THE UNIFORM I WARE

 

THE UNIFORM I WARE

 

She said, you look so young in the photo.

I was the Evac man at the 85^th Evac Hospital.

I don’t know how I got that hat.

It wasn’t like the others.

It helped me. It has its own story.

 

The mustache also.

It wasn’t uniform.

 

Two full colonels fought over it.

 

Not army issue, Sergeant.

Out of uniform, GI.

Not below the lip

Or the corners of the mouth.

 

You will not cut that mustache,

Sgt Bodeen, the other one said,

Chief of Surgery, giving me

Bone wax to stop bleeding in bones.

Twist the whiskers towards the eyes,

Let it grow.

I was 22. Turned 23 in Vietnam.

The hippie medic said,

Give me that hat.

Sgt Pepper album just out.

It was Tet, 1968.

I rolled my sleeves

Above my stripes, rank hidden.

I was never uniform.

When my hat came back

Spray-painted army orange

It was a frozen sculpture,

Wrinkled and cocked,

Hung on a painted rainbow,

Sgt. Bodeen, This Way Home,

A hat given by mistake,

One I still ware, mine.

 

Jim Bodeen

16 November 2020