Free Purple Daze by Sherry Shahan

gent!
Marine bleed ...
Chri ... mighty . . .
get that damn bird. . . .”
    â€œYou’re OK soldier.
Say again, 99.
Slowly.”
    Â 
    â€œ10, this is 99.
LZ secure ...
... no enemy fire.
Need ...”
    Â 
    â€œRoger that.
Choppers airborne.
What’s your position?”
    Â 
    â€œZebra 109-271 ...
Repeat, Zebra 109-271.”
    Â 
    Dust-off complete:
19 minutes.
    Â 
    Marine dies over rice paddy.

Ziggy
    Outside L.A. Mission:
    Â 
    Old men sleep on sidewalks.
Cardboard mattresses.
Pockets inside out.
Stolen shoes.
    Â 
    Ms. Hawes says,
“Don’t be afraid.”
    Â 
    I’m not.

Phil
    Cheryl,
    Â 
    All I’ve done for the last 42 hours
is wade through muck and mud.
Every inch of exposed flesh
is sliced up from busting jungle.
The fever blisters on my lips are
scabbed over with rot.
    Â 
    Tomorrow we’re going on a seek-and-destroy
patrol. We don’t like these skinny Commies
using us for target practice.
    Â 
    If we have to, we’ll take the village apart one
straw at a time. Shoot a few dogs and chickens,
maybe a water buffalo.
    Â 
    Right now my cartridge belt has
1 Bowie knife + 180 rounds of ammo on it.
I have a rifle that shoots 20 rounds
in less than 2 seconds
plus 6 grenades.
Fragmentation type. 14 ounces.
    Â 
    I pity the poor gook that crosses my path.
I want to get at least one for Gunther.
    Â 
    Thou shalt not kill—Fuck that shit!
    Â 
    I want to come home, Phil

Cheryl
    I can’t get out of bed, strangling in sheets, soaked with tears, drool, snot—
screaming louder than when Daddy died and I wore white gloves and a
black headband like Caroline Kennedy at her dad’s funeral—I’m crying for
Daddy and Gunther, and I can’t even imagine how Phil feels—and I’m
tearing at my pillow until my fingers are raw and I’m numb inside trying
to understand, How can someone fucking bleed to death in nineteen minutes?

Mickey
    USS Hermitage LSD-34 Pussy Patrol
    Â 
    Don—
    Â 
    Check it out: More than 1,000 sailors
lined-up on deck with our flies open
and our dicks hanging out.
    Â 
    Master Sergeant says, “What’s the gag?”
    Â 
    We salute, all serious.
“If we’re gonna work like horses
we’re gonna look like horses, Sir! ”
    Â 
    â€œThe Mick”
    Â 
    P.S. Man, I’ve been off my game.
Can’t sink a stinkin’ bar of soap
in the drain with the butt of my rifle.
P.P.S. I hear you got that job.
Better let your peeps play free!

Ziggy
    Ms. Hawes shows me around the Mission,
where women stay up all night taking turns
at an ironing board, pressing work clothes
for the next day.
    Â 
    An older lady reminds me of Nana,
rhinestone clips in her silver hair.
She got laid off from J.C. Penny,
then evicted from her apartment.
    Â 
    â€œA neighbor brought me here,” she says,
but not like she’s feeling sorry for herself.
“Tomorrow I’ll look for a another job.”
    Â 
    She smiles and pats the blanket on her cot.
I settle on the edge. She smells like Ivory Snow.
She shows me pictures of her kids, grandkids,
too ashamed to tell them what happened.
    Â 
    â€œI’ll wait until I get back on my feet,”
she says.

Nancy
    I told my parents I’m spending the night at Cheryl’s house,
but I’m really taking a bus to Berkeley with my Psych class
to join thousands of protesters. A 10-hour ride.
    Â 
    My suitcase is filled with rag dolls I made out of socks
in red, white, and blue. Uncle Sam hats cut from cardboard.
    Â 
    I want you!
    Â 
    Professor James says he’ll dress up like a soldier in the
American Revolutionary War. We’ll march behind coffins
filled with copies of the Declaration of Independence.
    Â 
    Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness
    Â 
    I’ll burn my rag dolls, standing with draftees burning
induction orders and draft cards.
    Â 
    Hell no! We won’t go!
No one knows what we’re fighting for!
Hell