897 Boomers Unpaid Debt 03-22-2020

“Naz Starovia!”
“Skol!”
My fathers friends roared
as they drank my Fathers Vodka,
at parties my Farther’d hosted
while they mimicked
their parents words and accents.
“Da! Da!”
” Ochen Harashaw!”
“Iz good we come to dis country!”
“Pravda! Pravda!”

All of them,
Poles, Russians, French, Estonians, Irish, Greeks,
Jews, Christians,
Communists, Anarchists,
(no capitalists! We were poor,
after all)
all,
not yet homogenized
but all born here,
in The Bronx, Queens, Manhattan,
Citizens of the City
that adopted their parents.

Their foreign words and accents
coming one generation
after their People
made it out,
just in time,
after the first-half-horror.

Thus,
they witnessed
the Second War flames
from afar.
Or,
as my Father,
with so many of his peers,
just old enough,
had returned
“to-fight-on”
“in the Good War, this time!”
to save the Fatherlands
blood stained,
blasted soil,
(not yet cleansed by passing time)

OVER THERE!!,

again,
and then,
came home
with the rest,
the Wounded-Broken-Greatest-Generation,
lugging their souvinear-stuffed duffle-bags,
their sperm
with them,
itching to be planted…

while I….?

I came along
with neither foreign accents to remember
nor scars from bloody beaches
nor memories of smashed corpses dressed in suits
splattered on Wall Street concrete,
bread line,
“Buddy, can you spare a dime?”

I could only imitate.
Ape the memories….
“Da! Is good you came to this country!”
and
“You have relatives in Germany, maybe?”
thrown in for dark humor,
an ear-mark of my generation.

Our mettle not yet tested,
rather temporarily reprieved,
postponed by a shallow grave,
M-1 and bayonet marked,
while we,
the spoiled brats,
waited for steamy jungles
in some
distant country
in some
unloved,
much-protested war
to become,

what?

Then for desert-sand and oil
to grind and polish
our progeny.

Thus,
we’ve only partially paid our debt
for what we’ve never really owed
(or owned for that matter!)
And we’ll never read the yet
unwritten histories
that might have told us
who and what
we might have been.

About Ken Greenman

Married and Happy. Retired and busy. Living in NC. 71 and counting. December 12, 2020 and it's 72! ... I would love some written comments, critiques, adulation or kind suggestions.... If you have the time and or inclination, please feel free! Not in fear but by faith. We will see. See you later! If you ever want to talk for real, email me and I will send you my cell number.... I am enjoying this!
This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s