Purple Daze

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Authors: Sherry Shahan
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Phil
    Â 
    P.S. My M-16’s chipped, cracked,
metal parts worn through the bluing,
cuz it never leaves my side.
P.P.S. .45 is rusted shut.
Yo-yo can still walk-the-dog though.

Don
    Dearest Cheryl,
    Â 
    DON’T TEAR THIS UP!!! PLEASE!!!
    Â 
    I’ll do anything if you’ll just forgive me.
Anything. I’m on my knees, begging, please ,
I love you so much I can’t eat or sleep.
All I think about is holding you.
    Â 
    I look for you everyday before and after school,
between classes, during nutrition at lunch.
Guess you’ve been cutting Hawes’s class,
and using someone else’s locker.
Has your mom told you I called?
About a million times!
    Â 
    PLEASE CALL ME!!!
    Â 
    I love you more today than ever, Don
    Â 
    P.S. Are you still pen pals with Mick & Phil?
P.P.S. I got that job at the club. $1.25 an hour.

Cheryl
    Love is like sticking
your car keys in a pocket with
your sunglasses and thinking
your glasses won’t get scratched.

Phil
    2 a.m. December 1
    Â 
    Me and Gunther have guard duty in the
tower, a mini-hooch without the screen.
    Â 
    A 20-foot high platform,
Permanent Target Duty.
    Â 
    Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
    Â 
    Mortars propel from some gook hooch.
I’ve got my buddy Blooper, an M-79 grenade launcher,
like a large bore, single barrel, sawn-off shotgun.
    Â 
    Our Xmas toys light up everything, moving or not.
M-18 Claymore mines— front toward enemy —
steel ball bearing shrapnel. Fugas. Trip flares.
Illumination flares, mini-chutes raining light.
Tracer rounds, ribbons of chrome-orange metal.
    Â 
    Hueys roll in.
Fighter pilots in helmets, shorts, zoris.
Annihilate the place. Rat-a-tat-tat.
    Â 
    Chaos.
Silent night, holy night.
Destruction.
All is calm, all is bright.
Extermination.
Sleep in heavenly peace.
    Â 
    Bits of beauty everywhere.

Cheryl
    Stable horses, $2.50 an hour.
    Â 
    I broke all the rules, galloped
soon as I left the barn,
    Â 
    like dancing to “Hang on Sloopy,”
naked,
    Â 
    free.

Ziggy
    Bubba dropped me at Hughes Market
with a list:
    Â 
    Crispy Critters
Ding Dongs
Potato Crisps
Sweet Tarts
Dr. Pepper
    Â 
    Wheeling through produce, I see
Cheryl’s mom thumping cantaloupes.
Her cart cradles chickens, carrots, squash—
nothing in a can or a box.
    Â 
    â€œZiggy!” she says, rushing over.
“Where’ve you been?”
    Â 
    I self-destruct on the spot.

Phil
    I keep having this dream.
A short, sharp sound.
    Â 
    Click!
    Â 
    When I turn, a squat brown boy
jabs a gun in my gut.
    Â 
    Click! Click!
    Â 
    He swings the butt at my head.
I empty a clip in his face.
    Â 
    Bones fly. Chip by chip.
A tooth.
    Â 
    Another round of shoot-a-gook.
    Â 
    I wake up sweatin’ blood.
    Â 
    God forgive us.

Mickey
    USS Hermitage LSD-34 Somewhere Over the Rainbow
    Â 
    Dear Cheryl,
    Â 
    What’s the haps?
    Â 
    Thought I’d send you some stuff
I picked up on my travels.
Hope you like the poem about Santa Claus.
    Â 
    Guess what? I qualified for Heads Helmsman.
(That’s the guy who steers the ship.)
    Â 
    Whenever we go through shallow water
I’ll be called up to steer.
I have to know everything about the Pilot House.
If I make one mistake
I could run aground or into another ship.
    Â 
    I can’t believe they’d give me so much
responsibility.
    Â 
    Later, Mickey
    Â 
    P.S. Last night I stepped into a card game
and walked out with $54.

Cheryl
    Yesterday, I showed my mom the short story
I wrote as a makeup for Ms. Hawes’s class
about a girl who stops taking crap from guys.
    Â 
    I got a dollar for my A.
    Â 
    This morning, Nuts & Chews set a gold
foil box on my place mat. Neatly folded
inside, an olive-green mohair sweater.
Cardigan, my size.
    Â 
    I think Mom’s and my story will
have a happy ending, after all.
    Â 
    His name is Lou.

Ziggy
    Imagine a family that chops, cooks,
eats their meals together?
    Â 
    Maybe I’ll bake a cake today.
    Â 
    Angel or

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