Monday, June 4, 2012

3686. MY FIGHTING MAN FROM THE FIGHTING FIFTEENTH

MY FIGHTING MAN FROM 
THE FIGHTING FIFTEENTH
If the Devil wore an oasis, was in the details, cooked his
own food, stalked his own claim, aimed his rifle at farther
targets than you or me, maybe then I cringe or blanch
at all his hindering motives. But, that doesn't seem to be.
All I ever hear is he gets others to do his work for him.
Isn't that Capitalism of a sort? And, anyway, I hear that
layoffs are due. I work my own slow pace at ending his.
-
There was a time, in 1959, in Boy Scout Camp at old
Raritan Arsenal, that me and Billy Bernath torched a
nearby field, just to watch it burn. The little brush fire,
having spread to more dangerous proportions, did burn
for more than half a day, and sent us all home. No
campover that weekend. Looking back now, I still
chuckle at such stupidity  -  the arsenal was, after all,
an old, abandoned ammo dump for WWII and later
firepower. Anything could have just blown up - no
one really knew what was left laying around.
-
Another time I remember, a friend burned down a
cabinet factory by the houses wherein we lived; at
the end of the block, in fact. We went back later
that night, to watch the fireman put out the blazing
wood and solvents. We laughed and had a grand old
time, when , suddenly, near us, a woman piped up,
crying  -  a little Spanish lady, in tears  -  and said
we 'wouldn't think it so funny if it meant your husband
was out of work and now had no job to go back to.'
 

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