In Memoriam

Arthur “Koot” Lute 1940-2007 Cherished member of the New Mexico Patriots, Father of Bubbles, Father-in-Law to Dozer, and Grandfather to Mace

“My Four Friends”

The light was dim and the beer was cold
As I sat alone at the bar.
It was times like these when I felt quite old
And pondered my youth from afar.

I took a sip and as it passed my lip,
I heard him say “Hey, you over there.”
What took you so long? We’ve been waiting for you.
Come on and pull up a chair.”

I knew the voice but couldn’t place the face
Of the man who called me by name.
I knew him as a friend from another place
But I was drawing a blank just the same.

I joined the table with the four of them
And shook their hands all around.
It seemed to me that I was their friend
Or at least they were friends I’d just found.

We ordered a pitcher and filled our glass
And the stories began to fly.
Like most bar talk, it’s hard to tell
Who’s truthful and who’s telling a lie.

Walter talked about travel and his time in France
And the girls from across the sea.
He remembered his buddies and the planes he’d flown
And the beaches at Normandy.

Peggy recalled the smell of fresh coffee
And huddling in the nurse’s tent.
The bitter cold of the Korean wind
And the mortars that came and went.

“I grew up on a farm,” said Max with a grin.
“Man, someday I’d love to go back.
Since leaving I’ve seen the jungles of Nam
With a rifle, a helmet and pack.”

Koot was by far the newest one there
And had very little to say.
“I miss my family,” is all he said.
“You buried me today.”

November 12, 2007