We Ain'T All That Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

That's what he said to the assembly
gathered in the Legion hall that night.
Most of them were in their cups already,
half awash with draught beer and booze
like the good old soldiers they were.
Shouts rang out and the pensioners
wobbled their heads and eyes rolled.
Glory, what a hell of a way to go!
Glasses were refilled by the buxom
young woman who stomped up and down
from one end of the bar to the other,
her swaying hips delighting the gaffers!
Glory, glory! What a way to go, girl!

I thought to myself as I gazed on the scene,
we never were all that! And now we're less
and more the way memory plays tricks,
making garrison duty in some distant
land seem like coming ashore at Iwo Jima!
Glory! You guys go! Hit that dusty trail!