Midnight Inspection

image of me.

Midnight Inspection

“A sailor is someone whose too smart to be in the

Army, and had never heard of the Coast Guard.”

--Anonymous

It was winter in 1967, at 2am. I’m in the Navy. I’m

22 years old. The war in Viet Nam is raging. I had

just switched rates from Airdale to Ship’s Company,

at NAS Miramar, in order to be a Captain’s Driver.

It was a cush-job.

I just returned from liberty. I was very inebriated.
Charlie and I had been to town, and this was the night 

we decided to go to Tijuana for the first time. We went

to see the “donkey show”, but apparently they were

fresh out of amorous jackasses, because all we could

find were strip joints and bars.

After midnight, on the bus back to San Diego, a dozen

underage sailors were puking their guts out. The air was

ripe with vomit. As the bus would slow down, a tidal wave

of puke would roll up under our seat, making us lift our

feet.

Arriving at the barracks, I began to pound on lockers, and

as Charlie was on his knees throwing up, I straddled him
like a pony, and in stentorian tones I quoted Shakespeare.

Then we decided to take pictures. Charlie stripped down

to his underwear, and wore a hijacked bra on his head. I

stood tall in my underwear, with my T-shirt pulled up over

my shoulders, wearing my white hat and Navy tie.

Ravens greeted us

returning before sunrise,

cawing my whole name.

Glenn Buttkus

Haibun

Posted over at d'Verse Poets Pub