Mark AKA Jingles

I remember him as my cousin--
With freckles and dark hair.
We teased each other as cousins do,
Even about the glasses we all had to wear.

He was as ornery as the rest of us--
He challenged my oldest sister
To a foot race-she was barefoot, he was not.
Hot asphalt burned her feet and blistered.

Can't remember who won that race,
More than likely Mark.
He and my other sister went to "Georgy Girl",
And at family dinners we stayed out 'til dark.

He grew up and went to war in Viet Nam,
And when his tour was up--
No one thanked him for his service:
The people of his country screwed up.

He married his wife Pyllis,
And when his parent's marriage came apart--
They stepped up to care for his little sister
With love in their hearts.

They lived in Hawaii and Texas,
And joined a motorcycle group.
He was renamed "Jingles" because of his keys.
He and Phyllis were favorites of the troupe.

He had health issues--
Due to diabetes and the war.
But he and Phyllis took care of his sister,
Both of them she adored.

He was there for her wedding,
And was official photographer.
Once again almost a family--
He was proud of her.

His health grew weaker,
And then he passed away.
The funeral procession was
Several miles long, my parents say.

Cars mixed in with bikers--
Gave him one last tribute,
He touched them with his life--America didn't thank him for his service--
Now the point is moot.