Little Jack

By Harry Mayer

Little Jack Duffy went off to the war

In 69’ he asked for some more.

His stature was slight but his courage immense.

His drunken wife once knocked him off a fence.

All the psychiatrists, doctors and men

couldn’t make little Jack better again.

 His pain was unknown, repressed and unseen.

Seeking solace in bottles and drugs was his thing.

A life in the Navy is all that he knew,

but when it came to an end, he was dour and blue.

Retired, alone, with a bottle of rum.

Last night, little Jack swallowed his gun.