I spent nearly six years in the Air Force Reserves, beginning almost exactly 23 (gulp!) years ago. Indeed, I spent my 19th birthday in boot camp in San Antonio, Texas, and every now and then, one or another of the deep-seated memories from that time comes back to me. I remember the cold April wind and the noisy birds that greeted us each morning, and the total lack of personal liberties that led me from one task to the next, along with my fellow junior airmen. By the fall of 1988, I was doing my annual two-week tour… as it worked out, I was providing support to a survival training mission in Alpena, Michigan. One night I found my way to the shore of Lake Huron, and the next day, I wrote this poem while waiting to go on duty. It’s sad, but it remains one of my personal favorites.
by Roger Darnell
Old man on rocks in Thunder Bay
stared hard, seduced in drunken way
by moon in perfect pearly white
which called old soul on black cold night.
No stars were seen through blinding light–
full moon had stolen show of sight
from old man, moonstruck full of hope,
betrayed by life; afraid to cope.
Lake Huron calm blue slow waves rolled
to rocks to meet their new-made bold,
and on their backs soft silken trail;
from moon-glow orb a sparkling tail.
He took old trust and left no wake,
just gave old body to cold lake,
while on wet rocks, dead jug of cider
spilled in place and moon got brighter.
A dawn fish angler pulled line in
weighed-down by corpse of blue dead friend
whose wife had left that day before
to be with young man she loved more.
