The aftermath

After the Navy tour was up, watching sea snakes navigate the gulf of Tonkin, Bull Pups in the shower stalls...500 pounders, pounding down the elevators, catapults, net trapped jets and world war 2 fixed wings, flying low...with bow and arrow wounds...and that pissed off disbursement geek, couldn't get me to ship over..."something weird about you"...well, no shirt...shitlock.

I went back...but I never went home, and after that I never knew what or where home was...for a long long time. Mom and dad were guarded...different, deferential, yet...strangely...not interested in me being there...sis was...different...way...different, and not deferential at all...something changed or, was it me...I didn't think so.

three weeks...max...it got uncomfortable...started yearning back to that slimey cat...offered to turn me into a porn star...I fled that...to come back...to this...fled this, to run back...to what...the whole world changing rapidly...maybe running...from that bug...they all got in their ear or in their rear, or...in their dear old uncle Sam'ys carpet bag.

Something had ducked in...about the time..."you don't believe, we're on the eve of destruction"...was playing around...but it truly started back when dad said "shut up! The President's been shot!" and started crying...I was 15 then...ever since...the whole world's been in mourning...over what, they know not...

I banged around...my brothers...with his great job...great wife...great kids...he started drinking heavy, offered me a slot in their bed, I moved on, beat around, hung around...a lot of crazy towns...all the same...all changed, yet...all the same...some rural necromancy...I flew...upon that great bird in the sky, the one with the Eskimo guy painted on it...

back to Anchorage...to meet my first wife...ouch!


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015

Photo: Grassy knoll/Kennedy assassination, by unknown