O-Dark-Thirty

Jan 27

Around the World, Unseen

by Matthew Mobley

Protected, in each other
In the waste of livestock
Sleeping softly; sweetly
Smelling the bitter saccharine
of livestock shit

Side by side; wet, cold? yes, yet
Still feigning more frigidity than necessary
In order to, with homoerotic jocularity, settle in

“Put your arm around me”
“Get under this blanket”
“Rest your head here
On the shoulder that braces
the recoil of my rifle”

Not disgusted by this waste of livestock
Complete, again sweet

Dreaming myriad dreams, living different lives
In the sweet shit of the world’s livestock

Matthew Mobley is a career U.S. Army Infantry Soldier/Officer, Ranger-qualified paratrooper, and former drill instructor with multiple combat tours. He currently teaches military science at the University of Tampa, though he considers the military more art than science. His previous work has appeared in McSweeney’s.

Jan 23

Your (sanity) has arrived…please sign here

by Christopher Wilson

The endless juggle shall continue
Maybe It’ll end before you turn blue
Patiently waiting (you’ll be here a while)

Your mind is so far gone
Never to return
All you can do is hope

Endless penetration, fuck your mind
How’s about I break your spine?
So divine

How long must I wait?
How much time shall I dedicate?
Just for the same result…

Please sign here, sir
This is a controlled substance, you see
Don’t be mad, I’m just doing my job

Now I’ve become a slob
My sanity is here and ready…
Take these pills…

Be steady

Christophe Wilson served in the Army as a 19D cavalry scout from 2006-2015. He has served in Iraq once, and Afghanistan twice. He was recently medically retired for PTSD. His ultimate goal is to share his writing with fellow veterans in order to reach others battling with PTSD.

Jan 13

Two Years Later

by James Smith

In the first days of my destiny,
during a downpour, illuminated by lightning,
sheltered by a cheap plastic tarpaulin,
I lay beside the redhead Anna Salamone,
pretending to be a hippie
(to the dismay of my father).
We were encouraged “do your thing”
and freaks did a snake dance across the hill,
crazed by fiddles, guitars, and banjos,
in a farmer’s field at the ’67 Folk Festival.

In a rice paddy within the Iron Triangle,
armed with rifles, grenades, and claymores,
we watched for the enemy across the hill,
doing what we were ordered to do
(silently cursing our fathers).
We pretended to be soldiers,
me and my closest friend Jim Szczur,
huddled under a camouflaged blanket
during a downpour, unnerved by lightning,
in the last days of my delusion.

James Smith served as a grunt with the 25th Infantry Division in Vietnam in 1969. He retired from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics in 2010, and now spends much of his time working with veterans. After writing this piece, he decided to find Jim Szczur, and they met for the first time in 44 years.

Dec 27

Sasebo Silent Night

by Lawrence F. Farrar

It was the afternoon of December 24, 1962 in Sasebo Japan, and Seaman Bradley Haynes was in a thorny mood. With most of their shipmates already on holiday routine, at 1500 Chief Bascom put Haynes and seaman Dirk Chandler to work wire brushing rust off the base of the ship’s crane. It struck Haynes as more like punishment than necessary maintenance. But what really rubbed the young sailor the wrong way was that he would also be pulling security duty that night–for the third time in two weeks. Why him? Not that he had any Christmas Eve plans; but the unfairness of it gnawed at him. Why him? He expected sentry duty that night would be miserable. Dampness hung in the air; the temperature was falling; and a thickening gray sky promised snow.

Dec 24

A Christmas Saved

by Neal Gillen

In the fall of 1954 I had enlisted in the Navy and was waiting for the notice to report for duty as December rolled around. The holiday parties seemed endless as I prepared for what would be my last Christmas at home in Woodside, Queens, until 1958.

Dec 21

Christmas, 1963, Fort Sill, Oklahoma

by David Tanis

Southwestern Oklahoma is an arid land of rolling hills, scrub brush, and grasses, quite different from the topography of suburban Northern New Jersey that I had been used to. Instead of crowded homes, packed close together, with all sorts of lush vegetation, from the omnipresent Norway maples, to fancy lawn shrubs crowding each inch of property, the sparse grasses and bushes of the desert-like landscape provide grazing lands as well as cover for the antelope, bison, long horn cattle, and mule deer which proliferate. For me, Oklahoma was like a new world as I reported in to the replacement company that December in 1963, a couple of weeks early, before my Artillery Officer Candidate School Course at Fort Sill was scheduled to begin. Unassigned, after the mandatory roll call I wandered about like a lost child.

Dec 9

Mornings in Helmand

by Matthew Borczon

After 12
Hr shifts
emptying wound
vacs and
bandaging stumps
and changing
bloody sheets
I would
return to
my tent
and a
bunk
no wider
than my
shoulders
no room
to turn
to roll
to dream
I learned
to sleep
like I
was dead
which was
easy
considering how
I lived

Matthew Borczon is a nurse and Navy Reserve corpsman. He has four children and has been published in a variety of venues. His work is about his time in Afghanistan and his readjustment since he has been home.

Nov 15

Dead Letter Days

by S. L. Northey

War a defeat those dead letter days
Miles of death lie on the sand
I guess I should be somehow grateful
This is not the day of my passing hour

Letters to respond, messages from home
What on earth do I say to them?
I walk among bodies still in the sand
People and that something they die for

I sit in my tent and think what to write
This day is not what I asked for
Miles of people still in the sand
As I try to defeat those dead letter days

S. L. Northey is a graduate of Saint Francis University. She enlisted in the Army and served for three years in the Emergency Department at Madigan Army Medical Center. She remained in the Army Reserve until 1996. Her book Good Grieving is forthcoming in January 2016.

Nov 12

Caffeine and Chaos: Another Day at Work

by Jonathan Burgess

He wasn’t quite sure if it was the heat or the light from the sun coming through the window that woke him up. Either way, coffee was an immediate necessity. He rolled onto his side and sat up to collect his thoughts, and he considered the most promising course of action that would make coffee – and maybe a little breakfast – least difficult to get. His muscles ached, but he thought of the warmth of the sand outside and managed to stir himself to action. He rose and shuffled through the light and dark striped bedroom to make his way to the bathroom.

Nov 8

1 Comment

Valor

by Cameron Filas

I once knew a man who wanted to enlist
And left for training with a goodbye kiss
It was a stern finger that convinced him to join
He was promised adventure and fame and coin
And once he was in there were fingers still
Pointing at people he was ordered to kill
Some were old and some were meek
It’s far too easy to slay the weak
Medals were pinned for these acts of valor
He shot them dead as they prayed and cowered
When he came home on Christmas leave
I asked what it is was he wore on his sleeve
It was a patch for fighting terror
He shipped back to battle and I said a prayer
I prayed to God as his enemies did
And hoped he’d come back to his little kid
And come back he did in a casket for one
Leaving behind his only son
And after the war when all dust has settled
Will it have mattered that he earned some medals
There is them
And there is us
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust

Cameron Filas enlisted as an infantryman in the U.S. Army after graduating high school. His hopes of a military career were cut short by a serious back injury which resulted in an honorable medical discharge. Despite this setback, he has gone on to college with the hopes of one day teaching history. You can visit his corner of the web at www.cameronfilas.wordpress.com.