Ambrosio

(Fiction)

“Ambrosio”

 The most beautiful masculine sounding name I've just learned

This was my grandfather's given mane, who I never had the privileges

Of knowing him personally, never saw him no one seemed

To ever talk about him in any conversation in my presence, he passed away

Before I was a gleam in my father's eyes, a valiant dough boy

Of the First War (WW1) I was informed He was a quiet and humble

Family man.

Tall, thin, soft spoken Gary Cooper type of man silent, kept to himself

Carried a lot of baggage from his war years he wished no one, to ever know

He wore the truth upon His uniform's chest, fruit salad (ribbons) seven rows high, and the reality of his private Life He had hidden in an old foot locker

Locked in the attic of his mind soul and house, all the secrets within the locked foot locker unfolded upon his death, Died of a poisoned inside his heart and soul, he stored within refusing to ever discuss the contents of a life he left

 Behind in a European war.

His hidden recorded life’s story, opened like a movie from the silver screen

A platoon sergeant who was proclaimed a gentleman by an act of Congress

In grunt lingo a battle field commission was promoted to the rank

Of Lieutenant, He had been observed by witnesses who swore on bibles

Upon an investigations that on one early morning a’mids a heavy fog

The enemy had silently Broke through, the barb wire battle front lines.

He defended his position with the precision of an Apache warrior

No weapons were being fired Just loud cries of fighting men dying screaming with the pain of war screaming to confuse in hand to hand combat.

The weapon he possessed was the first thing he grabbed for as he was Awaken, from a deep sleep was a trenching tool known as a short folding

Shovel a basic piece of equipment carried by all infantrymen, he swung it

From left to right up and down, from side to side from oblique to oblique

Some said he wore a strange expression upon his face it was blank

No smile, no frown no tears, no fright just a thousand yard stare

Into the endlessness nowhere of hell.

A sounding of metal clunking of shovels striking heads echoed with every strike, upon the enemy’s heads thirteen in all, heads rolled thirteen men, never again will answer to their roll call

Nothing will ever be the same, he lived the rest of his life on the razors edge A balancing act, one side was the bottle that eases the pains of war, on the other side awaits insanity, yet he never took a drink in his life, he still stands in our family archives as a legend, once the secrets he held within his heart and soul swallowed him whole.

It was said The Army's top Generals attended his funeral

The nation's highest combat commendation was posthumously presented before the lone piper Paced around his grave to the sad hymn of Amazing Grace, echo taps was played, a salute of four volleys from rifle Honor guard

Was fired escorting his soul to the pearly gates of heaven where once again He takes full command Of his platoon.                          

“Ambrosio”was his name.

By: William Bonilla

10/02/06