English Studies Forum

For Lewis B. Puller, Jr.

Maggie Jaffe

            Our stumps are all tangled up.  

Chesty pulled more than his weight.

The Marine Corps had to love him,

couldn't pin enough medals

on his chest for fighting 5

wars and for having a son.

Dad taught me to stand for ladies

and to shake a man's hand firmly.

But life rushes right by a man.

In a flash—Virginia childhood, to San Diego,

to the triple-canopied jungle—steps on a

booby-trapped howitzer round,

vaporized legs, pink mist surrounds him.

Pray, Lieutenant, for God's sake, pray.

Screams seem to come from another country.

Years later, Pain still walks point for him.

Back in the World

a wife and kids, booze and pain-killers.

Demands clemency for vets who've deserted,

then loses a bid for Congress.

A '91 photo shows clench-jawed

Puller in front of the Wall:

his wheelchair mirrored

in the smooth granite surface.

May 11, 1994: Lewis B. Puller, Jr.

died of a self-inflicted wound

19 years after the war's end,

the average age of a grunt in Vietnam.