Graduates of Western Military Academy

Graduates of Western Military Academy


One day, as this friend of my father, Paul,
was flying over Asia,
he vaporized a major Japanese city.

True story. They'd been chums
at a military academy in Illinois
back in the thirties.

My father was the star: best in Latin,
best in riflery and history,
best in something called "recitation,"

and best at looking serious.
In the old yearbooks he has exactly the look
you were supposed to have back then:
about fifty-two percent duty, forty-eight percent integrity.
Zero percent irony.

But somehow, all my father got to do later on
was run his own car dealership. A big one,
but still. While Paul
got to blow up Japan. My father
ushered in the latest models.
Paul ushered in the Atomic Age.
It seems unfair, but there you are.

Paul had been an indifferent Latin scholar. Weak
in history and recitation. For these and other reasons
My father took a refreshing swim
across a large, inviting lake of gin,
complete with strange boats and exotic shore birds,

which resulted in his internment
under some shady acres I occasionally visit.

While Paul went on for decades,
always giving the same old speech. Yes,
he'd done the right thing. No doubt about it.

He improved his skills at recitation
and developed a taste for banquet food.
To this day he struggles with his weight.

George Bilgere

Posted over on the Writer's Almanac
"Graduates of Western Military Academy" by George Bilgere, from The White Museum