The rain drips off the peak of my cap;

                Speckles my vision.

The marching band plays in G Major, but I hear only minor chords.

Old Glory passes by and I make the automatic, but heartfelt, salute.

I attend the ball games and barbeques

                But I am not really there.

I want to leave so as not to bring down the party.

I am remembering. Remembering and feeling.

As I visit flag-adorned graves I drift to other days.

The older I get, the more keenly I feel the sting that is Memorial Day.

The parade of faces and names begins again: Ox, Moge, Vaughn, Chief, and the rest.

All good men. All gone. All cut down violently.

Civilians cannot understand.

I go off by myself. In my mind, we prep for another patrol.

We kit up. We check comms. We return to that lethal headspace that our families suspect, but don’t know.

I get the thumbs up from the team and we walk the walk again.

The enemy tries to surprise, but we are too fast, too practiced.

Rifle fire, butt stroke, knife blades flashing, lethal hand strikes. We play that symphony again.

We sweep through.

I check my men. Ox, Moge, Vaughn, Chief. We are all here. They are fine.

Consolidate, prepare to repel, call it in. We are victorious because the only real victory is living through it with your brothers. Else is failure.

Politicians and civilians think otherwise.

                Lord, Forgive them their ignorance. We die that they may keep it.

Academics pose irrelevant questions about the good men on the other side. They too have family.

I care not a whit. I neither mourn their losses nor revel in their death. Their death that is my fault.

What do academics know of death, life, and brotherhood? Such things are not in books. They are in gunfire.

I see my brothers thru the smoky veil now.  I try to walk through, but cannot.

They go back to their patrol base and disappear back into the rain as Old Glory passes by.

I smile the grim and sardonic smile of every grunt. 

                I have been left behind again. They go forward.

I will see them again next year.

Taps sounds. I am asked if I want another hot dog and which game I want to watch.

The meat is tasteless. I mechanically watch the game. The centerfielder is good.

                Chief liked baseball, I recall.

Memorial Day — thank God it only comes once a year. 

3 thoughts on “Memorial Day

  1. I am with you Tony. I spend a couple of hours walking the flags at the local cemetery. I do not enjoy the day and have asked everyone in my office if “Happy Memorial Day” is really an appropriate greeting.

  2. A sacred day tainted often by commercials heralding the beginning of Summer Sales…I am in the habit of going to the local National Cemetery and reading the names of each there. One or two old friends from long ago, but most strangers to me. Last year a severe storm had gone through Wilmington and I spent the early morning (before the politicians and cameras showed up to show their patriotism) and walked each row, righting the flags that had blown over during the storm. I will be there again this Memorial Day, before the crowds, to visit with my Brothers.

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