Last flight to the gates of heaven, prose poem by Mike Marcellino

Last flight to the gates of heaven

by Mike Marcellino

Part I  The mission

It all became right clear to me

walkin' the dog to the beach

and back

to the gates of heaven

from mission number three.

i found that liberty, you see

can only be

if you respect other people's

rights.  Otherwise you got

nothin' but monopoly and friction.

i'm walking the dog to the beach,

and back

to the gates of heaven

from mission number three -

sometimes under attack

by dogs runnin' free 'cause their masters don't put 'em on a leach,

even if they have one.  Now i'd like to let my dog Button

run as free as he likes, but then, that wouldn't be liberty

and we'd all end up under attack.

Seems you can only have pure freedom when nobody's around.

If you want to live together without fightin' and wars

we have to all share our liberty.

Button, you see, is a young white Poodle

smart and stubborn as can be.  He doesn't much

mind any of the dogs, 'cause he's on a mission with me, you see.

He's a kind of blood hound without the hound.

Secretly enlisted in the K-9 Corps.

i'm tryin' to keep him sniffing for

ways to peace, so our world can still be.

We're walking to the beach

and back

to the gates of heaven

from mission number three

to meet up with all the critters we see,

maybe make a friend or two.

We can all have liberty to a degree,

and together, i truly believe

we can save their world from

man-made destruction,

if we can just be kind to each other,

from here to eternity

and back,

'stead of killin' each other and our planet.

Headed down through rattlesnake turtle dunes,

things kinda turned the other cheek.

Suddenly ahead i see a whole family

complete two boys and two dogs

on their leaches.

"That's the man you like,"

said one boy to the other.

And, low and behold

the man pulling his dogs on their leashes

retreated

letting Button and me

pass through safely;

they were like Moses parting the Red Sea.

We're still walkin' to the beach

and back

to the gates of heaven

from mission number three

when i spy a mighty subtropical

thunderstorm,

a scary black, silver and grey chain covering the western horizon,

wanting badly to spawn tornadoes.

At this point, we're on the point

and i spy a break in the clouds

maybe a path on our road to glory.

Eyeing the growing storm in some increasing disbelieve;

our luck seemed to have run out -

black-grey funnels tryin' their best

to take Button and me off the planet

to Oz.

Then, starting to think some last thoughts

walkin' the dog back from the beach

through the rattlesnake turtle dunes

it dawned on me,

"What a special dog this is;

he's either got some of that PTSD,

or he's much smarter than me."

The Dylan's lyrics run though my brain -

"Mama, put my guns in the ground

I can't shoot them anymore.

That long black cloud is comin' down

I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door"

Thanks, Bob, for those lines from "Knockin' On Heaven's Door,"

i really like that song

from the "Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid" sound track.

Here's your credit -

Copyright ©1973 by Ram's Horn Music; renewed 2001 by Ram’s Horn Music

Part II  Flashback No. 1

On our final run, Button

and me

i'm back in the wars again

thinkin' Audie Murphy

and To Hell and Back from World War II

now i'm back to tryin' to get back

from Firebase Cleveland.

i had no gun,

hardly ever did 

in the Vietnam War

out in the field, not even a tooth brush

or change for a dollar,

not a bite of food, not a C-Ration can

just notebooks, pens and

thirty-five millimeter cameras

wrapped in plastic,

wading through the rice paddies, sometimes chest deep -

my brothers watching my back.

Part III  Button and me

Trying to keep my cool

there was only one thing to do

right now

if Button and me

are gonna make it through the storm.

Start joggin'

and singin' this old song -

"Up the hill,

down the hill,

Airborne,

Airborne,

Army Rangers.

Up the hill,

down the hill,

Airborne,

Airborne,

All the way."

Over and over. I probably messed up the lines

but it's been a long time

before long a half century.

Then i got to thinkin' we just might

make it through the storm.  I geared back to fast walkin'.

Part IV The night i thought i'd died

These threats in the world

get me flashin' back

to the night i thought i'd died

in the sandy

forested wasteland

on the Cambodian border

at a firebase freshly carved out

Automatic weapons fire

all through the no moon night

shootin' the shit with bare chested GI's

filling bags

for some slim extra protection 

against mortar and rocket attacks.

i'm out there, right there where we're not supposed to be

me, some Army engineers,

artillerymen

and a battery

of big guns,  one five five millimeters

on tracks that looked like tanks.

i got dropped off on the convoy

thanks

to the bird colonel and his helicopter.

from my ride on the bird colonel's helicopter.

Letting me out, barely touching down,

that Alabamian, i guess as close as you can get

to my commanding officer, looked at me

without a word, laughing.  i didn't bother to look back.

He wasn't a bad guy.  He just wanted some good photos and stories

out of me

published so he could be a general.

We rolled on to the border

dust almost blinding.

Then right away in some no man's land

the bulldozers scooped up dirt

by the tons

firing hole for the big traveling guns.

"Boom, boom, boom,

blast, blast, blast"

the guns shook and thundered.

(me shooting pictures, taking notes, without ear plugs, close enough to feel the warmth of the steel)

The artillerymen humpin' all day long

unleashing hell out into the triple canopy jungles

where they enemy was supposed to be -

the NVA (the North Vietnamese Army)

and maybe some VC (Viet Cong) guerrillas i suppose

on their way to hit Saigon, and not the bars.

I don't know how many enemy there were out there somewhere,

hundreds,

maybe as many four or five thousand;

it wasn't any use to think about that.

"Who's out on the perimeter?" i asked the smart-assed lieutenant

who shut me out of his APC.

(armored personnel carriers to you folks back home).

"Mercenaries," he said without a grin.

i thought, "Man, what a fix i got myself in."

With dispatch the lieutenant said,

"Start diggin' your hole,"

he said as he went into his APC

probably to start partying before World War Three.

Our guns were silent, even Alpha's Angels

the whole troop had showered, except the reporter,

from canvas bags filled with cold running water

brought in by slicks, Huey D Model gunships,

(They didn't stick around.)

Nothin' like a cold shower to get some relief from the mind sapping heat.

i had little time.  The sun was going down.

Get the size just right.  i had no time to think

of the rectangular, grave sized bunker

to be topped with corrugated steel for a cover.

Be quick. 

At least someone gave me an entrenching tool

or i'd have been buried alive

before the fireworks began

on the night a thought i'd died.  That's another story.

Part V  Gates of heaven

Then, i got to thinkin' we,

Button and me, that is, just might make it 

walkin' the dog to the beach

and back

to the gates of heaven

from mission number three.

So my story to you,

at least the one from today

does have a happy ending.

Button and me, we did make it home.

Back in the day

toward the end

of the ten thousand day war,

all i know, for sure that is 

58,000 and more,

some of America's finest

young men and women

didn't make it back to the world.

These bands of brothers

i always remember.

They boarded the big airplanes

in body bags and boxes

on their last flight of freedom

to the gates of heaven.

Last flight to the gates of heaven by Mike Marcellino copyright 2012