Friends, No Friends

 

I had friends in Japan, or guys I worked with.

In the field, we were together all the time.

We worked long hours and rode the truck to work

together.  We ate together.  We drank in the barracks

after work.  We went to the village together, if we had

a day off.  Usually we worked seven days a week because

we didn’t work when we were in-station.  We drank.

Together.  In the barracks.  If one of us went to town,

we all went.  In Albany, I didn’t have any friends.

I drank in the Stag Bar of the NCO Club, or by myself,

in the barracks, listening to my hi-fi set, reading books

from the base library, and writing letters to Jack Neff.

I ate every meal in the chow hall by myself.  Sometimes,

I dressed up and treated myself to a steak dinner at

the NCO Club.  No fatigues in the club proper.

I had to wear a Class A uniform or civilian clothes.

But not a coat and tie.  Just, no work clothes, please.

They had a band that played old Glenn Miller arrangements.

I was a moldy fig.  I thought of Jimmy Stewart in the movie.

June Allyson.  I thought of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.”

Bobby Darin.  I thought of Sandra Dee playing Gidget.  Or was that

Sally Fields?  I thought of me at Waikiki.  Surfer Jack.  The Big Kahuna.

I thought of the surf at Waimeia.  Are you drunk?  Perhaps.

Probably.  I don’t know.  That’s what’s pending.

 


 

Contents

Previous Page | Next Page

Home | About | Mail