Memorial Day Remembrance
Sitting on the old black oak, where we used to fish together,
lost in the past, I think back, and remember a better day.
You wrote to me about your new ship, and new friends,
and your new Pontiac, with only twenty-two payments left to pay.
The morning's rain left the air heavy, like my heart,
as I coax my line and bobber to and fro.
I can't find any explanation for this world,
or reason for why you had to go.
Last watch was nearly over, time to hit the cot,
two exocet missiles hit port-side,
your stricken ship never fired a shot.
Two days later, from the fantail of the USS Conyngham (DDG-17),
Senior Enlisted CPO, tall and proud, left over from an older Navy,
turned his head down, and away, with shoulders heaving,
eyes sunken and red, that Chief cried like a little baby.
Things didn't turn out quite as we had planned,
I was supposed to be your son's Godfather,
And you were supposed to be my Best Man.
I pull up my line and tackle, to answer nature's call,
the stream splashed down to meet the river,
and Marshal Tucker Band played on the truck radio.
I reach into my pocket, and pull out two pieces of metal,
hanging from a faded chain, gleaming, they gently clink.
Name, branch, social, blood type, and religion tell the tale...
thrown now into the river's, deeping, I watch them quickly sink.
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