DEATH Poem: My Comrade in Arms, by Richard Eric Johnson

(for Rodney and Richard—Johnson)

from a schooling
comrades were Russian commies
from an education
comrades were soldiers

basic training during Nam
we were bunk mates
no dna brotherhood
and the band yet to play

bonds of
practicing weaponry
bonds of
weekend brothel boozing

time of danger
brewing on a far horizon
time of reality
mortality at hand

flesh and blood
torn and flowing
I remember your face
those times from pictures

those times of pride
friendship and toasting
roasting in jokes
laughing arm in arm

decades later
I finger touch
your name
on a granite wall