Requiem On Omaha Beach Poem by John Bliven Morin

I left your helmet on your rifle, Bill,
Stuck in the ground where you fell today;
We had to dig in further up the beach.
I didn’t know how long you’d have to stay.
Sarge took one of your dog-tags to keep,
Since our lieutenant didn’t make it,
an' left the other one jammed in your teeth
for the mortuary boys to find eventually.
I got your wallet, Bill, with all the letters
You was gonna send home
I’ll send them soon’s I can.
I was the runt in the family. You had all the muscles,
champion at every sport. I was the weak one;
We looked like the guys in the Charles Atlas ads.
I was the one always getting sand in my face.
Sand. You’re getting sand in your face now.
What the hell happened? Why am I still here
And not you? Nothing makes sense anymore.
Goodbye, Bill, I gotta go. We’re movin’ out.