expendable?
Â
Who hasnât said,
Â
I wish he was dead.
Iâm mad enough to kill.
If words were bullets
heâd be pushing up daisies.
Â
I scream that and more about
The-Dirty-Rotten-Two-Timer.
Â
Bang. Bang. Heâs history.
Â
If thoughts are things
a murderer resides in my head.
Ziggy
Bubbaâs still asleep so I fire up a
breakfast doobie and polish off a
package of Lorna Doone cookies.
Â
I find Ms. Hawes in the phone book
and call to tell her Iâm still writing in
my journal and ask if itâs okay to send
her a poem sometime, but Iâd understand
Â
if itâs not, because she has over 250 students
a day if you count all of her English classes,
plus homeroom and after school detention
and,
Â
she asks if I can help her out on Sunday.
Iâm too stoned to come up with an excuse.
Â
Now what?
Phil
Gunther.
Â
Something gets his arm at the elbow,
and he gives a funny little wave, like
a flag salute, watching his hand crawl
on the ground.
Â
Head down, he mutters, âCrap-ola,â
as if heâd dropped his only glove.
Then he passes out, real laid-back.
Â
Medic.
Tourniquet.
Whole blood.
Morphine.
Â
I hold him, my fingers clenched into fists.
He squeezes back, still alive, hanging on.
Jesus, thereâs too much blood.
Cheryl
Phil wrote about Gunther getting wounded, said it was nothing serious,
that Gunther was one lucky son-of-a-bitch with his million-dollar
injury, because the war was over for him and heâd be back in the world
soon, but I wish heâd told me what happened, because my whole body
shakes when I think about him getting hurt, because I know Gunther,
even though Iâve never met him, I picture this big, sweet guy in a Santa
suit (so his buddies can have a laugh in hell) wearing his girlfriendâs
garter belt (because he misses her so much) and I think about Pastor
Brunner playing his guitar in Sunday school and how I used to think
God was a musician and I was one of his instruments, and believing he
was strumming me, keeping me safe for eternal life, and I canât believe
anyone could be so brainwashed, even a five-year-old kid, and before I
know it Iâm playing âNowhere Manâ on Mickeyâs guitar....
Mickey
USS Hermitage LSD-34
Â
From: SECNAV P. H. Nitze
Â
To: All Ships and Stations
Â
Subject: WAVES ( W omen A ccepted for V olunteer E mergency S ervice)
1. The following information will be of utmost interest to all sailors ashore and afloat.
2. After a lengthy effort the WAVES began service in August 1942, thus avoiding a crisis at hand. Each vessel averages 125 lbs., 66 in. length, and is broad across the beam with dual forward mounts. Newer models are best launched at night, free and fast as hell.
3. A creative, yet functional design supports a hatch at mid-ship that accepts a driving shaft between 6 and 8 inches, though her engine must be heated to the optimum temperature. If bearings are well lubricated the standard speed is 60 minutes, 15 minutes if full speed ahead.
4. If operated according to the manual she will shudder and shake when backing off an all-out run, no matter whoâs at the helm. Do not disclose secret maneuvers except in the line of duty. It is mandatory to report violations.
5. Will raise an OFF LIMITS flag 3 to 7 days each month to unload disposable hazardous waste and repair damage caused by projectiles with loose screws. Reel in hoses and salute her colors to avoid a hostile disposition. Hull seldom needs scrapping or paint, though perfume is appreciated.
6. With proper care these vessels will operate satisfactorily until every sailor receives his discharge orders.
âThe Unknown Chaplainâ
Dust-Off
âVoodoo 10! Voodoo 10!
This is Orphan 99.
Request urgent dust-off.
U.S. Marine ...
mine ... mine.â
Â
â99, this is 10.
Extent of injuries?
Is landing zone secure?â
Â
âUrgent!
Repeat ...
Â
Who hasnât said,
Â
I wish he was dead.
Iâm mad enough to kill.
If words were bullets
heâd be pushing up daisies.
Â
I scream that and more about
The-Dirty-Rotten-Two-Timer.
Â
Bang. Bang. Heâs history.
Â
If thoughts are things
a murderer resides in my head.
Ziggy
Bubbaâs still asleep so I fire up a
breakfast doobie and polish off a
package of Lorna Doone cookies.
Â
I find Ms. Hawes in the phone book
and call to tell her Iâm still writing in
my journal and ask if itâs okay to send
her a poem sometime, but Iâd understand
Â
if itâs not, because she has over 250 students
a day if you count all of her English classes,
plus homeroom and after school detention
and,
Â
she asks if I can help her out on Sunday.
Iâm too stoned to come up with an excuse.
Â
Now what?
Phil
Gunther.
Â
Something gets his arm at the elbow,
and he gives a funny little wave, like
a flag salute, watching his hand crawl
on the ground.
Â
Head down, he mutters, âCrap-ola,â
as if heâd dropped his only glove.
Then he passes out, real laid-back.
Â
Medic.
Tourniquet.
Whole blood.
Morphine.
Â
I hold him, my fingers clenched into fists.
He squeezes back, still alive, hanging on.
Jesus, thereâs too much blood.
Cheryl
Phil wrote about Gunther getting wounded, said it was nothing serious,
that Gunther was one lucky son-of-a-bitch with his million-dollar
injury, because the war was over for him and heâd be back in the world
soon, but I wish heâd told me what happened, because my whole body
shakes when I think about him getting hurt, because I know Gunther,
even though Iâve never met him, I picture this big, sweet guy in a Santa
suit (so his buddies can have a laugh in hell) wearing his girlfriendâs
garter belt (because he misses her so much) and I think about Pastor
Brunner playing his guitar in Sunday school and how I used to think
God was a musician and I was one of his instruments, and believing he
was strumming me, keeping me safe for eternal life, and I canât believe
anyone could be so brainwashed, even a five-year-old kid, and before I
know it Iâm playing âNowhere Manâ on Mickeyâs guitar....
Mickey
USS Hermitage LSD-34
Â
From: SECNAV P. H. Nitze
Â
To: All Ships and Stations
Â
Subject: WAVES ( W omen A ccepted for V olunteer E mergency S ervice)
1. The following information will be of utmost interest to all sailors ashore and afloat.
2. After a lengthy effort the WAVES began service in August 1942, thus avoiding a crisis at hand. Each vessel averages 125 lbs., 66 in. length, and is broad across the beam with dual forward mounts. Newer models are best launched at night, free and fast as hell.
3. A creative, yet functional design supports a hatch at mid-ship that accepts a driving shaft between 6 and 8 inches, though her engine must be heated to the optimum temperature. If bearings are well lubricated the standard speed is 60 minutes, 15 minutes if full speed ahead.
4. If operated according to the manual she will shudder and shake when backing off an all-out run, no matter whoâs at the helm. Do not disclose secret maneuvers except in the line of duty. It is mandatory to report violations.
5. Will raise an OFF LIMITS flag 3 to 7 days each month to unload disposable hazardous waste and repair damage caused by projectiles with loose screws. Reel in hoses and salute her colors to avoid a hostile disposition. Hull seldom needs scrapping or paint, though perfume is appreciated.
6. With proper care these vessels will operate satisfactorily until every sailor receives his discharge orders.
âThe Unknown Chaplainâ
Dust-Off
âVoodoo 10! Voodoo 10!
This is Orphan 99.
Request urgent dust-off.
U.S. Marine ...
mine ... mine.â
Â
â99, this is 10.
Extent of injuries?
Is landing zone secure?â
Â
âUrgent!
Repeat ...
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