The secret
is always on the tip of your tongue
like a flavor
you can’t identify.
If you taste it, and savor it
you can unlock the mystery
of why
there are so many masters
and only one
that will set you free.
My drill instructor speaks to me
in my dreams, like a sadist
He encourages me with smoke
and machine-gun fire
He tells me I’m a pussy
and he beats me on the back
with the butt of his rifle.
He makes an example out of me
in front of the men.
“You see, this is why you can’t succeed!”
He grabs me by the shirt-collar
and throws me in the mud.
His white hair is elegant, shaved close to his orange head.
He’s half Mexican, half asshole
He’s been in every combat situation since Vietnam
He’s murdered men in the board room,
when he got back to civilian life, that is
and
I go to him
in my dreams
and ask his advice.
“Where do I start, sir?”
“What kind of lame questions is that. Just do it!”
Even though he screams at me,
I know he cares.
I wake-up, like I’ve been kicked out of my bunk bed in boot camp
and my blood is pumping
like a river
underground.
I start typing…
“Punch the keys, damn it!”
I hear him in my head, like a crazy uncle
and that’s when I really start writing.
I drive to work
and notice
the men
fixing power-lines
digging-up parking lots
and doing repetitive jobs
“Where is the magic—that spontaneous thrill, to write about?” I ask.
Silence.
I get to work, two minutes late, and die of drudgery.
I have died many times, so that I might live.
I drive home.
The library is empty. I get my books on hold.
The golf course is empty. I check-in at the pro shop.
“Where is everybody?”
“Don’t you know, it’s the world series, and the Mariners might win!”
“Oh—” I said.
“All the cool people are watching the game,” the prick in the pro shop said.
“I guess I’m not cool then—and I’ll take advantage.”
He laughed.
I teed-off.
I was playing golf in heaven.
There was nobody there.
It was like everybody
was raptured
before the nuclear holocaust
and I had front-row tickets
to the greatest show on earth.
Quite a dream and poem! My HS English teacher was an ex drill sergeant. That was enough for me!
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Funny, I met a guy who was in the army for 20 years. i could tell, even with his huge beard.
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I suppose that experience becomes part of one’s disposition, even after they leave.
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Maybe we all or probably only some of us, okay, me, need that guy to get anything done
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Yes, he comes in handy!
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