The Coward
He was the coward of another county.
He was bullied and pushed around.
Just considered the village idiot,
In another small All-American town.
Fresh out of school,
The coward joined the Marines.
He went to a war in Vietnam
And ate a lot of beans.
But he was back in what they called,
The land of the free.
He now wanted to serve,
His friends and family.
The jobs were scarce,
And so were friends.
He tried to stand tall,
To all the bitter ends.
He didn’t shave.
He wore his hair long.
A war had changed him.
He heard a different song.
He was without a job,
And without a dime.
He was in the wrong place,
And in the wrong time.
Still, he hoed some gardens,
For some elderly folks.
While being the clown,
And the butt of jokes.
Still at minimum wage,
He carved a little niche.
He worked long and hard,
But he would never be rich.
A decade or so went by,
Still he lived alone.
Finally he married.
But soon she was gone.
His heart was destroyed.
It was on Caesar’s Head,
“I don’t love you.”
Was what he thought she said.
His mind was gone,
And his broken soul sank,
While at work she disappeared,
With all the money in the bank.
He knocked on a door,
But he glanced inside.
He saw another man,
With his blushing bride.
Still the coward of the county,
Never raised a hand,
Even seeing his wife,
In the lap of another man.
“Could I speak to her”,
He asked at the door.
She don’t want to listen,
To a coward anymore.”
Still he did nothing.
He said, “I still love you dear.”
He left and drove real slow.
He soon saw lights in the rear.
He entered his cabin,
Turned on one light.
Waited in a dark room,
For the spooks in the night.
The big truck came,
At least two were inside.
But wasn’t it the coward,
Who lost his bride?
Shots rang out.
The flashes weren’t new.
The coward saw it all before,
Serving the Red, White, and Blue.
But the coward,
Was running out of hope,
The coward was close,
To the end of his rope.
The next day he acquired,
A rifle and scope.
Still, he would obey,
His “Inner Gyroscope”.
Once again, that night,
The coward turned on one light.
He turned the TV on,
Like a man living alone.
He then dressed up,
As warmly as he could.
Across the road on the edge,
He sat down in the woods.
For hours the coward sat,
At his listening post.
Remembering a banana tree,
He once thought was a ghost.
He heard the rumble of the truck,
Close to midnight.
He prepared himself,
For his next fight.
It was a winding road,
They would have to drive slow.
The coward lined up the first shot.
The driver would be the first to go.
He was sure he could deal,
With a truck of red-necks?
It will be easy pickins,
After it wrecks.
But no shots were fired.
It would have taken only one.
For the coward wasn’t a coward.
He never did learn when to run.
As he watched the big truck disappear,
He focused on the passenger’s side.
Without a doubt he knew,
The silhouette of his bride.
And though the coward’s heart,
Continued to break,
He knew there was a limit,
To what a coward would take.
For hours and hours,
He stayed at his listening post.
Just waiting in ready,
For his next demon or ghost.
It was a couple hours toward dawn,
Without much daring or pluck
Left his bride’s lover,
A note on the big truck.
“Go ahead,
Kiss the ground.
You’re pretty lucky,
To be around.”
“You’re good at making,
Me look like a clown.
But the reason you’re here,
You didn’t fire another round.”
“Go ahead,
Thank God for what you’ve got.
You’re only here now,
Because you didn’t fire another shot.”
And the coward left.
His heart would never mend.
And over and over,
The coward plays it all out again.
There was no peace,
For this former Jarhead.
And he carried guilt,
And wished he were dead.
He was an honest man,
This ex-Marine.
But they kept putting out his fire,
With gasoline.
~Micky Dee~
Micky's Jarhead Hubs:
This has been a true story. Most of my poems, if not all, are based on truth.
This poem, like many, is absolutely true.
I knew this Marine, very closely. ~Micky~
