I just learned (via email)
from a close paternal relative Pamela Noblitt
that my paternal grandfather (Aaron Harris),
when in his prime fit
as a fiddle served
in the Phillipine American War,
which sharpened his fighting skills a bit
and posthumously thank him het all
plus belated gratitude
for late maternal Uncle Paul
(hoof aught in World War II) etrenched in foxholes,
or slithered snaking upon the enemy to stall
and good ole dad, strapping and tall
during height of physical maturation
(who oft times recounted exploits,
sans far from the front lines
and imaginary brick wall
about his role in the Korean/American War –
when prodded by thine eldest
collegiate eldest grown daughter),
and hob bet cha y'll
and blinked back tears
knowing thee above kith and kin,
when figuratively at bat
survived, and avoided significant mortal combat,
came home to a warm welcome as handome chaps
encountering aswarm of young ladies,
an armada vis a vis amorous coup d'etat
some returning troopers most likely
kept their word
(made before boot camp) promising flat
outright to marry girlfriends,
highschool sweethearts,
or maybe medics, which feminine touch,
went to the heart and soul buzzfeeding,
creating, enticing with gnat
much effort, one or another
tough leather neck
to blatantly proposition – doffing hat
with suave debonair courting
meowing a silky gal named “Kat”.
