It had seemed fine when he was mustered out After Bull Run, to wear a veteran air, And tell pink Ellen Baker about war And how, as soon as he could re-enlist He’d do it where he got a chance to fight⁠— Wet mouth of tears⁠—he hadn’t wanted to kiss her At first, but it was easier later on. Why had he ever gone out to Chicago? Why had he ever heard that shallow band Whanging its brass along a Western street And run to sign the muster-roll again? Why had he ever talked about Bull Run To these green, husky boys from Illinois And Iowa, whose slang was different slang, Who called suspenders galluses and swore In the sharp pops of a mule-driver’s whip? Bull Run⁠—it had impressed them for a week But then they started to call him “Bull Run Jack.”⁠ ⁠…