Paulie, my father’s friend in Madison, tells me
That after the Army bussed him back to Milwaukee
Having held onto him for 4.5 years in the European Theater
The only things he had to remind him of the war
Were his woolen full-length coat and a Walther P38 luger
He’d taken off a dead German officer
Before boarding a bus to Madison
He threw the coat in the trash
Leaving him with only the pistol
That he carried in a brown paper bag
And the thin dress shirt on his back
In the middle of a Wisconsin winter
When he arrived shivering at her house
My dad and Paulie’s husband John
Sat down and killed a bottle of bourbon
My dad at some point offering John the gun
Which he kept above the fire place for many years
Perhaps – I’ll never know – being painful for my dad to see
By the time I moved to Madison John had passed away
And Paulie, telling me this story then
Said John had given the gun to their son
Who showed it to me beaming with pride one time
An object he treasured until he died
Which his son now possesses
Lanning Lee 