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World War II.
Korea.
Vietnam.
Wounded each time.
They dug out shrapnel.
Taped, tacked and stitched up what had to be held together.
Top sergeant.
My men went into battle.
In each conflict I lost some of them
to bullets, shrapnel, toxins,
prisoners of war dying in fetid cells.
I came home;
served until I retired,
done with the U.S. Army
or until they were done with me.
I lost some of me;
damaged nerves and limbs.
Gangrene set in;
amputation took my leg,
still, I lived almost a year.
The last patrol called me to meet my Maker;
my flesh was made whole,
my leg given back to me.
I walked into Heaven
between two rows of soldiers,
my men,
made whole and given back to me.
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