Jay Wenk is a veteran member of VFP Chapter 058 in Catskill Mountain, NY
I’m gonna’ tell you
what an 8 mm Mauser bullet
does to your future when
it bursts through your guts
and spinal cord.
I’m gonna’ tell you
about a hand grenade
that comes flying your way,
landing between your legs
with its clock ticking
while you’re trying to dig
a hole in stony earth
with your helmet.
I’m gonna’ tell you
to duck inside a farmhouse
when a Panzer’s turret
swings around in your direction
and its crew is loading high explosive
for special delivery
up your ass.
I’m gonna’ tell you
what to do when our P 47
Thunderbolts come calling
with eight 50. caliber machine guns,
and they manage to confuse
your hole in the ground
>with Werhmacht trenches.
I’m gonna’ tell you
how to dry off after
marching through a deluge all day
with a condom
over your M1’s muzzle,
spending the night
in a not quite frozen
water filled ditch,
the wet dark illuminated
with the neon of tracers,
rifle blasts, mortars,
and a BAR.
I’m gonna’ tell you
to stop worrying after you’ve
thrown away your gas mask
because you cut sections
out of its breathing tube to
sheath your dog tags so that
they wont jingle at night
while your squad is trying
to move quietly into position
for an attack on
a well defended bunker.
I’m gonna’ tell you
how to avoid
shiny-new
second Lieutenant
widow makers,
wearing pressed OD’s,
polished boots
and a clean Ike jacket,
when they get out of a<
muddy jeep driven by
a corporal needing a shave,
wearing a knit cap
and chewing tobacco.
I’m gonna’ tell you
about the smells.
Burning truck tires,
corpses, vomit, cow shit,
your unwashed body,
spilled bovine intestines
throbbing in the sun,
Konzentrationslagers,
Puddles of urine,
rotting fish blown out
of a putrid barnyard pond
covered with decaying creatures
in shades of purple, black, and green,
fat flies gorging in the
thickened blood of horses
bloated to the size of
a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day
Parade balloon.
All these,
mingled with gunpowder, and fear.
I’m gonna’ tell you,
for me and my dead buddies, mangled by your lethargy and opportunism.
I’m gonna’ tell you,
yes, you, standing over there
looking bewildered,
and you, in the corner,
smoking, smirking, waving the flag,
and you, with a fancy bonnet
and the high heels,
buying war bonds,
singing sentimental war songs,
reading all about the
action at the front,
then turning to the
stock market reports,
maybe looking for your
financial gains first.
Yes, you praised the troops,
even bought a vet a drink
from time to time,
gave ‘em a ticket to
a baseball game.
how they’re making the world safe
for your freedom.
You exult in victory, and
you don’t even have to
go back to normal,
you never left it.
And now that war is over.
That’s what you think.