Gettysburg

You took Coach Joe and me to Gettysburg
last summer on a day trip in July.
It was hot on the bus ride we took
overlooking battle fields, but nice
outside on the patio of a local dive,
drinking beer, the three of us.

We made fun of Jake for being a confederate,
you and I, because he picked the wrong side
and because he’s a bit racist, but you
were too, I guess. The movie was good,
but the mural was better and we took
pictures by the cannons and by the hillside
where men of both sides died.

The drive down Jake talked and we,
we listened to Morrissey—I should of seen.
We asked for directions from probably
the strangest toll booth man in history,
he had to be. I loved that trip, being with
two of my favorite men—loud and strong

and fathers to me. I wish we could go back
even if Jake’s a confederate and you
a sympathizer and we learn again
that America has gotten fat and slow
and lazy in the outdoors. I’d go back
in an instant if you would come with me
for old time’s sake.