Marched to War

They marched stiffly and without a coward's flinch onto bus, train, car, minds on a cause

Marched to instructor’s time, to service of fleets and seas, wanting more to be, to survive, to know God’s favors, asking for none

Marched onto ships grey with painters’ splotch, down into bulkhead flats

Sprinted up into turrets a circus troupe, crawled down into cold hull sweat a heaving rab

Smelled gunpowder’s sulph ash, sore-choked wet Pacific salt, spray-slapped

Thrust upward…onto…smashed into…as mighty guns slashed chunks of sky

Mammoth sea holes swallowed iron cordwood, towering spouts grasped heaven’s hand

Some raced the night, some fell deep in sleep consuming sea’s deluge one final gulp

At port, they’re marching, but at fathoms, done

We pause stiffly and without a flinch we sons and fathers and all

Stopping to imagine silent white on black survival dreams, to know God’s favors, asking for none.

E.E.Slater 2003