It is cut and dried.

September poetry number twenty-three. A re-write.

It is cut and dried.

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

 Old words still mean the same. 

                    It is cut and dried…

Old man sitting at the Old Fox tavern.
Drinking his rum and coke, rolling a Silver Star medal in his hand.
The Silver Star given to him for killing many in forgotten war.
He knew the Army appeased him with this token keepsake.
He put the medal on the table and
drank down the last sip of his drink.
He ordered another rum and coke.

I sat with my father.
He gave me a smile of welcome and ordered me a beer.
He was only forty and his anger driven him to kill often in the civilian world.
He pay his due in prison for manslaughter in self-defense.

He told me.
“It cut and dried son. A old Ojibwa/Mexican had no chance.
I was a residual of a man who only skill was to kill for a government who
consume the poor youth for the profit of war. I have toil for many years.
People looked at me with fear. I was a imperfect beast create by poverty and war.”

I had joined the military like my father.
I was a poor kid with no place to go.

I saw the struggle and disappointment in his eyes.
War is fought by the poor people for the rich man gain.

My father smile and told me. “No benefit to swim in old thoughts.

Disgrace memories are the curse of a silver star. I need more rum my son.
I was bold and daring once and I volunteered for war. I killed many in the Korean war.
Left brothers in unmarked graves forgotten. It is okay son. Cut and dried son, there is no good
ending for a drunk Ojibwa man with no place to go.”

I sat many night waiting for my father to request to go home.
I learn later. Many men from the Vietnam and Korean war era tried to drink themselves to death.

There are many murals of men who fought and died together.
Men who were serenaded song of war and glory by a heartless government.
I believe many more died at home than the battlefield.
Agent orange and the chaos of war cursed their vision to focus on real life.

My father told me often. ” Don’t allow anyone to look down at you. Get education and show
the world you are their equal and more. Too many had died for you to accept s**t from anyone.”

In the end. My father was killed by the booze and the memory of war.
I drink the long Island ice teas and I roll my father’s two silver stars.
I pray he found peace in death.
     Coyote

Author's Note

Thank you for reading.

Reviews

[Weeping willow]

Wonderful write Coyote, brings back the memories of my dad and his stories of war. War breaks men down, leaves them with horror inside their minds that they can't escape, I hate war and the pain it brings. Thank you for sharing this though. I wish there was a better way to solve problems ;-]

[Coyote Poetry]

Hello dear friend and I agree. Thank you for reading and the comment. War teaches men to appreciate life only.

[ROSALIND]

Beautiful heart warming story for my soul 💓

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Rosalind for reading and the comment. I appreciate my dear friend.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Wow. This was a fabulous read with astounding truth in many of the lines. I know quite a few Vietnam vets. I was supposed to go fishing with one yesterday but his truck battery died. I've listened to their stories of war and regret with sadness and understanding. The men who can kill without regret are few even when trained to do so. "War is fought by the poor people for the rich man gain." "a government who
consume the poor youth for the profit of war." "the chaos of war cursed their vision to focus on real life" These lines stuck with me. Another observation I have made is that "hero" nonsense everyone is always constantly spewing. "Our heroes in uniform." You mean the people sent to do a job you don't want any part of and you don't want to even hear about? The job prescribed by politicians who sit on their bloody hands while letting others do their dying and killing for them? Those aren't "heroes". They are ordinary men and women forced into extraordinary circumstances of kill or be killed situations with no choice and no way out. My heart extends even more to the Vietnam vet because many of them were drafted and didn't even volunteer for their tour of hell. Great write, John. Your poetic voice shines here in telling the reality of things the way they are.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Fabian. My father finally peace late in his life. A kind woman saved him. Was too late, the rum did her job. The Korean and Vietnam war killed him 35 years later.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Sad. But I'm glad he found a good woman. Sometimes it helps to focus on the good and especially so, I think, when there is so much wrong in our world. Bless you, John

[keith]

someone had coined the phrase ... 'war is hell'
a war that never ends in victory or defeat
war takes from one the sense of morality, the sense of silence, compassion, attrition
these are days never to be regained
skeletons of the evils it brings are ushered into the mind's depths in a battle for the sanities that never fully recover

as a younger man mandated to register for the draft, faced with ominous decisions
stay and wait to be forced to become just more cannon fodder
resist then live confined in a concrete and steel box
or run and hide for the remainder of life
forced to 'surrender' all for the others cause

many suffer, only a few find peace

[Coyote Poetry]

I volunteered at seventeen. Poor boys saw the only escape, the Army. You are right Keith.
"many suffer, only a few find peace"
Thank you for reading and the comment.

[Chris Shaw]

Incredibly moving piece about your father Coyote. Breaks the heart to think of poor boys enlisting because there is nothing else. No one wins in war. Survive it and you are left broken by what you saw or what you did. Not surprised many old soldiers turn to drink to forget. I hope too your father found peace in death.

Chris

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Chris. Late in my father life. He found a kind woman. Last 12 years. He lived in the mountains of Virginia. He found some peace.

[Chris Shaw]

I am so pleased to hear that. A kind woman would have helped him.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

A powerful piece of poetry that speaks to the internal ravages of war. My uncle who served in the marines fighting in Vietnam would often tell me similar stories like this poem. And he would often muse the same political thoughts as well. Fighting because he was poor and it was the only way to lift himself out of poverty. Only to realize to his horror he was enriching the great war machine of this nation that cared very little about the lives it consumed. And consumed it did with profound indifference. I remember him telling me he died in the jungle years ago and that he was just waiting for death to retrieve his body. That sent chills up my spine even to this day. An incredible and insightful piece of poetry my friend.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Carlos. We both know. No-one wins in war. My father told me. One night, someone killed the man next to him. The soldiers who lived. Never slept again. War is hell my friend. Your uncle, like so many good men and women. Learn killed our kindness.

[W. Barrett Munn]

Once again you rock me out of my chair. I am with Ken's assessment of this one-essential reading for poets.

Winston

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you my friend. I befriended my father and I learn. No-one can win in war. And you can't escape war. War will find you.

[Ken e Bujold]

a riveting read Coyote. I found myself hanging on every word of the story so poetically told. The line "Cut and dried son, there is no good ending for a drunk Ojibwa man with no place to go.” is so achingly beautiful, and sad beyond description. I have known such men, the pain of emptiness spilled out into a bottle, beat down, and broken by life is a universal one. You caught me unaware, now thinking of similar nights spent among these demons. A great gift to give any poet, thank you.

Ken e

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Ken. Today I see the homeless. Old men, who were soldiers and they gave-up. No-one win in war. I pray Ukraine can find peace again. I saw four wars zones as a soldier. The children are not children no-more.

[Ken e Bujold]

I can only imagine the horrors carried from 4 war zones. While I have seen the aftermath of such places, spent a few years wandering working for various NGOs after I punted former career, The tragedy and mindlessness of men never ceased to amaze me, while simultaneously nauseating me and leaving me in tears of frustration.

[Coyote Poetry]

President Clinton my unit to Africa on water, food and medicine missions. I learn, my life wasn't so hard Ken.