Casualty Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

My Uncle Bill told us some blood-curdling tales!

My Dad was in eighth grade at Visitation Grade School
when Uncle Bill came home from the Pacific theater
a tormented man-brawler and drunken lecher-AWOL
and flat broke-on the run from Uncle Sam, his wife
and the teen-age slut he'd knocked up in San Francisco.

But the decorations he earned were for real-
three Purple Hearts and a Navy Cross.
My uncle was both schmuck and hero!

Uncle Bill told us graphic tales of his sojourn in the Pacific-
'Them Japs I killed on Iwo Jima were real dead-
I lopped off their heads and stuck 'em on palm trees!
First kill always got me in the mood! Know what I mean? '

Every night he caroused was Saturday night.
He drank to forget nights spent in the islands.
His youth gone, hope and health shot to hell,
Uncle Bill ended as one more casualty.

'Rest in peace, Uncle Bill.'