When Eisenhower who won WW Two was President

 

When Eisenhower who won WW Two was President

Fat boy grabs my arm.
Thin boy punches my stomach which hurts, yes,
but not as much as I’d expect.
“What are you doing?” I say
in my beginning-to-crack voice.
“We’re gonna beat you up,” fat boy says.
“Wait a minute,” I say and strangely, obediently,
fat boy drops my arm.
“Before you beat me up,” I say, “just tell my why.”
“Because it’s your turn,” thin boy says.
“Why?” I say.
Each boy looks at the other.
They don’t know why.

In fifth grade, 1957, they teach Walk Don’t Run.
They teach Duck and Cover, Kiss Your Ass Goodbye.

No kiss. I run. They chase, heavy footsteps
past the tail-fin Chryslers  
    tied to blackface lawn butlers
past the muddy football field
    where one day a kick will crack my testicle
past the mothers in pink bathrobes
    whose sons died in Korea
past the angry old major
    who will die in his bed
past Julie Johnson’s house
    who will test that testicle.
I run all the way to the grim faces of the draft board
    men fat and thin who grab my arms
    and punch my stomach many times
and it hurts, yes, but this time I run away
far and fast and forever while friend Denny
joins the brawl and loses, pink mist,
    an RPG to the belly at Khe Sanh
because I can’t stop him,
because sometimes it’s your turn.
Just tell me why.

……

First published in Picaroon