i joined the marine corps at the age of eighteen my hair went down to my shoulders jean overalls with three inch platform dancing shoes a silver ankh cross on my chest riding the bus from cleveland to parris island south carolina i didn't have a clue those days friends called me a space cadet freakmeister head stoner the grayhound bus reached the island parked then all hell broke when the sergeant with the smoky the bear hat tilted over his beetle brow saw me his bulldog jaws went to work calling me withering expletives cussing phonetically arranged to slice the gray-matter to ribbons those were the days of the old corps we were herded like cattle stripped down to the skivvies heads shaved as with a lawn mower and made to stand thumbs to the front even while in the rack with older recruits patrolling butting us with flashlights in the solar plexus if we broke the rule when they weren't looking cried for the loss of my hair but reached up to my bald dome and found a few strands the butcher barber missed the length a foot or more wrapped them round my ear at lights out twanging them like an instrument the lonely lost boy at night 3.3 10/10 © Brian Peter Hodgkinson
Tribal Outcast
01
May