very well, my jaw was shot off at Sorrento
but I have a medal with a very purple ribbon
in a tin box, and besides I would have never seen
the world--would I? and look at the drunken Indians and the flags crawling to death from Atlanta to Phoenix,
look at the battleships poked full of holes
and old admirals; I've got a lawn to mow,
I've got a dog with a wooden leg, I've got
pride. the world is full of rockets, rackets and
boxers and guys like me. I met a midget in
St. Paul once who claimed he was God, but he was always bumming drinks and quarters and smokes. What do you think? I asked him.
Well, he said, the bowl is full of fish
who won't drown, you can't flush them away,
you can't poison them
you can't eat them like olives.
buy me a drink.
got a smoke?
lend me a quarter.
what's wrong with your jaw?
why do your eyes twitch?
where's East Commercial street?

I have this blue ribbon in a box;
it reminds me of a casket,
only the ribbon is more purple than blue
lying there,
and it's great to be a war hero,
a live one,
and I have a big blonde from Trenton
and she asks
how many men did you kill?
and I say
just as many as the wires in my jaw
but not as many as the hairs on my head,
and we kiss and fiddle in the smoke
while outside young men dress in asbestos
and fishbowls, and the tragedy of life
is when Dagwood runs out of razorblades
on a Sunday on the floor twisting and fiddling
besides my beautiful blue and
purple-ribboned head.
from Trenton to Phoenix, from Rome to E.
Commercial St.,
Kru bellowing, Ike smiling smiling smiling,
caskets, smoke, rockets--
Dagwood with a stubble.

© Frank Silvanski