BATTLING BASTARDS OF BATAAN
In an American cemetery in Manila,
beneath riots of bougainvillea and mango tree,
seventeen thousand soldiers lie buried -
monument of man's inhumanity to man.
Warping in heat waves of tropical sun,
white crucifixes seemingly sprawl forever,
an endless carpet of uniform headstones inscribed -
REMAINS KNOWN ONLY TO GOD.
Thousands of names on stark marble walls
of soldiers known or presumed dead,
men whom no physical trace was ever found -
haunting memories still fresh in tortured minds.
A largely unspoken part of the "Day of Infamy,"
defense of the Philippines, the other Pearl Harbor,
four months of agonizing hell and certain defeat -
Bataan, the Alamo of my father's generation.
In steep volcanic headlands covered in roadless jungle,
men left ill-equipped, malnourished, malaria ridden,
starving in their foxholes, no food, no ammo, no medicine -
abandoned by the country they swore to defend.
Brutal reality revealed in mean little doses
"no mama, no papa, no Uncle Sam, nobody gives a damn"
their slogan, these Battling Bastards of Bataan soon realize -
national betrayal the uncomfortable truth.