Poem 20, June 20
Chester Johnson, Poem Twelve
You have to remember that it’s been
74 years now since I went to sea.
My pay grade was E4,
Petty Officer Third Class at the signing.
When I got my patch,
it was tacked on my sleeve;
the eagle was called a crow.
I was punched half a dozen times,
hearty punches that bruised my arm.
I was lucky no one
tacked me with that needle.
I was as happy as I could be, however,
for I had achieved
the lowest grade of noncommissioned officer
for my achievements,
and my crow never flew away.
“…and my crow never flew away.” Absolutely perfect. Great work!
You picked up on his sailor’s words. When a sailor got caught in some situation that would bring dishonor to the Navy, his crow would fly away, he would be demoted.
Great conversations! Watering a garden, I overheard the shrill, complaining voice of an old man. The young man he was haranguing was patient. I thought there is great mercy in a mature voice that doesn’t hate his own life. This is why Chester Johnson’s voice is such a gift.
I’m giving Chester poems a few days of rest. Chester’s voice is mature. I envision another 15-20 poems before getting through Korea, Vietnam, and Iraq. Thanks for seeing Chester’s voice as a gift.
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