It Aint Easy in the Old Easy Chair
***

On Saturday afternoons,
Johnny would walk into town.
With the chores done...
it was okay to go.
He had a Rhode Island Red
tucked under his arm...
To make money for the Picture Show.

Johnny had seen all the newsreels...
a box of popcorn 'tween his knees ;
And Patriotism took hold, in a way...
That buying Bonds would not appease.

He was only sixteen,
but lied about his age ;
And hoped that they would not seek proof.
But all the Enlistment Officer saw...
Was the bullet-proof daring of youth.

The United States Army welcomed him in.
That "Hillbilly" had a good aim.
And he traveled with Patton,
through thick and thin,
In the European Campaign.

Although the war is over...
The battle rages on...
The enemy always comes out at night...
And retreats before the dawn.
Although the war is over...
The screams still fill the air...
And every night... He relives the fight...
It aint easy in the old easy chair.

Mama, Whats wrong with Daddy?
He's cussin' and yellin',GET DOWN !
"Don't wake him, son" "It's just a bad dream"
"Sometimes the ghost come around."

Little Billy never did understand his dad.
His dad was just... prone to bad dreams.
Billy would later drown out the noise,
With "Mony Mony" and "Green Tamborine".

Then one day,
Johnny brought his son a letter...
An invitation, from Ol' Uncle Sam.
Billy lit a match...
and got slapped by his Dad.
He landed in Viet Nam.

Well, Time marches on
like Time's always done...
Now, Billy is married,
with a daughter and son.
And late in the evenings...
When he doses off...
He still hears the sounds of the guns.

Although the war is over...
The battle rages on...
The enemy always comes out at night...
And retreats before the dawn.
Although the war is over...
The screams still fill the air...
Every night...He relives the fight...
It aint easy in the old easy chair.

Now, on Holidays,
Billy always comes home,
And brings the Grandkids...
Oh !What a thrill !
Now, Billy understands John,
and John understands Bill...
With a silence...
That no words can fill.

***
Howling Commando


Ricky is just one in
an assortment of nuts
that make up my bizarre
carnival of friends.
Hillbillies
Heads
Bards
Bikers
Theologians and Transgenders
Priest and Prostitutes
Rabbis and Rogues
Monks and Maniacs.

He is bright and bitter
with an affinity for numbness.

Conversation comes easy
amid the clutter within his
mobile home "War Museum"

Weapons and instruments
of death,that most cannot
imagine the minds of men
creating, displayed upon
every section of wall, in every
corner, nook and cranny.

So many dark and disturbing items.
lead to many morbid dialogues.

There is a strange sense of peace
that comes over him as he sits
surrounded by gruesome souvenirs
of man's cruelty and depravity.

We pass the bota bag back and forth
The wine always loosens his tongue.

He was...
At one time...
A young boy who laid upon his bed
dreaming of heroic acts alongside
his comic book heroes.

Sgt. Rock and Easy Company
Sgt. Fury and the Howling Commandos
Captain America and Bucky Barnes.

The young boy and the dreams of heroism
died in the jungles of Vietnam.

He is...
At this time...
A shell of a man wrapped
in a shroud of nightmares.
Daymares.

Somehow...
The demons that dance in his mind
are exorcised by the artifacts of atrocities
that decorate his home.
Seeing them constantly, to the point
that they have become easily ignored,
has helped him deal with the horrors
that were non-stop seen in his head.

Right or wrong
Good or bad
He has learned how to cope.

I drink deep from the wine
and pass the bota back to him,
as he puts on the executioners
demon faced mask that came from
somewhere in Indonesia.

He stares through the carved out eyes
and says,
"Can you imagine the things that have
been seen through these eye holes?"

I cannot imagine
even after he removes the mask
and I look at his naked eyes
haunting and haunted
I cannot imagine.

Sun light is fading and I reach
over and inside the lampshade
of skin, with the tattoo still visible,
to add another forty watts of eeriness
to the mementos of the macabre.

Sometimes...
As I sit here with Ricky...
I also feel a strange sense
of calm come over me.

He passes the wine bag back to me.
Another souvenir from Vietnam.
Made from a womans breast.

He walks over to his stereo
and delicately places the vinyl
disc onto the turntable.

Three Dog Night

LIAR

He sings along

Screaming !

LIAR LIAR

Howling !

The wine is good.
The buzz is wonderful.

***