A Tribute to Maj. Lono

The Major's Mail Call - by d. glorso Like santa claus I drop the sack letters from the world I sort and stack some familar, some new as i flip through the mass some special for Marines Missing or killed in the act Vietnam my job the mail takes care then I see the letter scent fills the air the hand writing so perfect the black ink so clear the blue - green envelope smells sweet and dear she dosen't know, the word just around the Major's mission must have met ground he's the EX-0, I look up to, all give him respect, i stare long and hard at the letter, and cock my neck, and reflect on the times I handed him the stack, blue-green, in his chair he'd lean back, his feet found their way to the crate called his desk, with a smile he'd thank me, I'd deliver the rest, leaving him to read the letter scented so sweet, now I wonder how many years she will weep, the cross on the wall not yet removed, the major's mail call, death not proved.