"The Making and Un-making of a Marine"

by Lawrence Winters

Robert McNamara Trilogy

Old Men are Bastards

by Larry Winters

The first line in Robert McNamara’s book is:
“This is a book I planned never to write.”
I wonder what he planned to do?
Reminds me of my father telling me 20 years later
he never really planned to beat the shit out of me.

Old men are bastards.
They act like bastards most of your life
and before they die they tell you they're sorry.

Abraham started it when he took his boy up the mountain.
Tied him up and held a knife over his head.
Then he made up some crap about God, and let the boy go.

Robert took 58,000 men up the mountain
and 30 years later he tries to let them go.

Thanks old man.
This is a poem I planned never to write.
But you wrote your book.
I wish you had found a ram on that mountain you old bastard.

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I Never ONCE Lost My Head

“Only great men admit their mistakes.”
Robert McNamara

I never ONCE lost my head!
I was one of the best, the brightest.
I want you to know I figured that war late into the night.
I drank from American streams all my life.

I was groomed in the best schools.
I never ONCE lost my head!
In fact I was the head, the head of the eagle itself.

I flew among the cirrus, above the war.
Above the smoke of burning flesh.
I never ONCE lost my head.

With my eagle eye I saw people like ants.
Gliding on ethereal wings, circling in the wind eddies
above the white house.
I was to high to hear the cries of the mothers,
the screams of the protesting youth.
I never ONCE lost my head.

It has taken me years to come down.
Age has pulled me back into my body.
Back to my belly, my balls, my heart.
I must admit only great men admit their mistakes.
I never ONCE lost my head.

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River of Words

Robert McNamara’s words sit on the night stand.
The glue of the binding unshattered.
I have carried this book on vacation.
Four days have passed, and no light has seen the pages.
I have been wondering -- do I want to know--
what the past 27 years have really meant.
Will Robert’s confessions bring back any of the sleepless nights?
Will his mistakes rectify anything for me?

An old man’s swan song.
Sung on a troubled river of words.
He knows the falls is around the bend.
And his wings are tired.
I am still standing a the waters edge,
not knowing if I want to get wet again.

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Last updated: July 6, 2009

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