Lou J. Klaiber

FOR MY BROTHER: THURMAN “WOODY” WOODFORK

Comin’ up on years
I count as 63,
… I sometimes play
the old records.

78RPM records!
Jazz growed up.

I listen to Miles
and Coltrane,
and the plaintive sax of Stan Getz.

I remember what we did
to make it right.

I remember Nam,
and the long days
and dark nights!

The firefights.

Mostly, Woody!
I think of changes made for the better.
… and how hard it was
to write a letter
when a Brother was gone.

We may not be remembered
my friend,
but we were there
every damn day,
and every damn night.

Soldiers till the end.