eleven eleven

the poet etheridge knight

a poem in honor of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, for those who endured and continue to endure the tightest of places--the tightness of combat, war and strife.

At a VA Hospital in the Middle of the United States of America:  an Act in a Play

by Etheridge Knight

Stars from five wars, scars,

Words filled with ice and fear,

Nightflares and fogginess,

and a studied regularity.

      Gon’ lay down my sword ’n’ shield—

      Down by the river side, down by the river side—

      Down by the river side...

Former Sergeant Crothers, among the worst,

Fought the first. He hears well, tho

He mumbles in his oatmeal. He

Was gassed outside Nice. We

Tease him about “le pom-pom,” and chant:

“There’s a place in France where the women wear no pants.”

Former Sergeant Crothers has gray whiskers

And a gracious grin,

But his eyes do not belie

His chemical high.

      Gon’ lay down my sword ’n’ shield—

      Down by the river side, down by the river side—

      Down by the river side...

A.C. Williams drove a half-track

“Half da goddamn way ’cross Africa

In da second war,” his black

Face proclaims, and exclaims—

Along with other rosy exaggerations.

Each week he sneaks through the iron-wrought fence

To the Blinking Bar down the street.

Midnight reeks the red-eyes, the tired

Temper, the pains in the head.

A phone call summons an aide to bring A. C. to bed.

      Ain’t gon’ study the war no more... Well,

      I ain’t gonna study the war no more—

      Ain’t gonna study the war no more—

      O I ain’t gonna study the war no more.

“Doc” Kramer, ex-medic in Korea

Is armless. And legless,

is an amazement of machines

And bubbling bottles. His nurse,

White starched and erect, beams

A calloused cheerfulness:

“How are we today?” Kramer’s wife leans

Forward, sparkling fingers caressing his stump

Of arm. She is pink, fifty-six, and plump.

“Doc” Kramer desires sleep.

      Gon’ lay down my sword ’n’ shield—

      Down by the river side, down by the river side—

      Down by the river side...

Ex PFC Leonard Davenport goes to court

Tomorrow. He is accused of “possession and sale”

Of narcotics; his conditional bail

Was that he stay at the VA, for the cure.

For an end to sin,

For a surcease of sorrow.

He spends his pension for ten grams of “pure.”

He nods the days away,

And curses his Ranger Colonel in fluent Vietnamese.

His tour in “Nam” is his golden prize.

      Gon’ lay down my sword ’n’ shield—

      Down by the river side, down by the river side—

      Down by the river side...

Grant Trotter’s war was the south side

Of San Diego. Storming the pastel sheets

Of Mama Maria’s, he got hit with a fifty

Dollar dose of syphilis. His feats

Are legends of masturbation, the constant coming

As he wanders the back streets of his mind.

The doctors whisper and huddle in fours

When Trotter’s howls roam the corridors.

We listen. We are patient patients.

      Ain’t gon’ study the war no more... Well,

      I ain’t gonna study the war no more—

      Ain’t gonna study the war no more—

      O I ain’t gonna study the war no more.