Doug Rawlings remembers VFP member Jay Wenk.
A POEM FOR JAY WENK, A DRAGONFLY
It's that time of year again
bridging late spring and early summer
when up here the black flies contend with
the mosquitos for my blood in the garden dirt.
And then come the dragonflies
who don't know me from Adam
but they somehow find me in my time of need
swinging by to let me breathe a bit easier..
So, Jay, I asked in the backseat of Ellen's car
in the middle of our usual veterans' bitch session
was there any time you guys stopped your pissing and moaning?
Yeah, he said. When we freed that concentration camp.