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NINETEEN FORTY TWO
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS


As a young man in Jersey I wanted to be a cop
One sunday morning that dream came to a stop
Our nation had been a victim of a vicious attack
By an aggressive enemy , we had to fight back
The guys on my street, most still in their teens
Lined up the next morning to join the marines
We were all patriotic with a drive to avenge
That sneaky attack called for instant revenge
Bussed off to camps to be trained for killing
The need for payback made us able and willing


We gave not a thought for the ultimate cost
No one remembered the millions previously lost
In France and Belgium on Flanders’ field
Endless casualties that all conflicts yield
We eagerly toiled and polished our skill
Filed insurance papers and made out a will
Off to see mom and dad on a five day leave
I’ll be home soon mom, no need to grieve
We visited relatives , our neighbors as well
Unknown to many its my final farewell


Off to the west coast more training to follow
On and off boats in deep water or shallow
We did that maneuver over and over again
Disembark quickly we wont lose  many men
We boarded troop ships and sailed west
Joined a convoy all in search of this quest
We arrived at an island being bombarded
The pinging of shell casing being discarded
The command was given, go over the side
Clinging to rope ladders as we battled the tide


			

1942 (2)



Small boats all loaded with frightened men
Most are sea sick, ashen and pale and then
Circling, circling then circle once more
With a sudden lurch, we raced to the shore
The boat scraped the bottom, stuck on the sand
Gangway dropped open, a hundred yards from land
We exited the boat and into the water
Then began a blood splattering slaughter

Men were killed while still in the boat
Wounded men laden with ammo to heavy to float
Dodging and praying I made it to the beach
Before finding cover I was trying to reach
A mortar exploded which sent me reeling
When I came to, I couldn’t see I had no feeling
Hey mom  I need a clean uniform for saturday
It’s the championship game at the ymca

I can hear my mom but I can’t reach  her
Hi mrs. Ryan, she’s my sunday school teacher
I lay there motionless for who knows how long
I began to feel warm, then cold, I heard a song
Row, row your boat gently down the stream
This hell cant be happening , it must be a dream
All is quiet and peaceful now cause I’m not alone
My mom and dad are here we’re all going home

A telegram from the commander in chief
Won’t dampen the pain nor the grief
My mom is bitter it shows on her face
My dad mopes around in muted pace
Neither will be the same any more
Two more casualties due to the war
Pass by my house  on  foot or by car
Hung in the window you’ll see a gold star
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