Filipino Fog (I fell in with some sailors once)

[emel.scott]

I fell in with some sailors once
they were hardened men from another ship.
Who threw back liquor by the ounce
and cussed so much the air at dusk
Was frosted by their salty lips.

‘Real Men’ who took their monthly pay
and nary a coin in bank would clink.
All spent on booze and getting laid.
They'd shoot the moon, pee in spittoons,
fall face first in their drinks.

These guys were bored by common play.
They took their fun far from the flock.
Left average stuff to younger mates.
Preferred instead what others dread,
the risks of life outside the box.

I wasn't practiced at their games
and hardly tough if tough at all.
I’d take a bath and not make waves.
A greenhorn Hebe put on shore leave,
From the cushy suburbs, near the Mall.

Well be that as it may, my new friends
took me in as one of them.
Though I was scared, I did pretend
as if they'd met a seasoned vet,
To share adventures till the end.

And so a 'Jitney' cab they hired,
a jeep all stenciled wild.
"To lofty peaks!” they told the driver.
In our bright ride, with painted sides
Of Mardes Gras & Carnivale.

__________________________

The ‘Hucks’, a band of rebel Flips
would take your head with one swift blow.
So danger lurked on any trip,
but these Ol' Salts not prone to halt,
would boast they had some seeds to sow.

So, up into the mountains rode the mighty seamen six.
10 miles north for what it’s worth
where trees were tall and bamboo thick.
To find a stoop of ill repute
like no place else on earth

Two wars had burned into their minds
this place of lust and pity.
Where I would risk my soft behind,
not gleaned from any map I’d seen,
they called it Subic City.

At the end of a dirt alleyway
we rumbled in all drunk.
Dogs running in the street were strays.
Raw sewage stench from open trenches
filled my nose and fed a swamp.

The girls; Straight out of the hills.
The house; a school of sorts.
A course in teaching carnal skills
To learn their moves and then to prove
They qualified to work the ports.

About a baker’s dozen
These tartlets of the night
Though briefly they had risen,
make no mistake, these small cupcakes
could satiate any appetite.

I did not stop to judge myself
[They say] 'A stiff dick has no conscience.'
Here 50 pesos gave you wealth
A youthful swabbie with funds to lobby
and girls seeking recompense.

She had a photo in one hand
of her with some old mate.
His face torn off you understand
One image gone, one newly longed
She offered me as a keepsake

And soon she took me up the stairs
The sheets were filthy and bloodstained
The perfume reek masked mildewed air
Old mattresses strewn 'cross the floor, clear evidence of,
I am sure
A thousand pleasures gained…

...And a thousand virgins lost
In this single story told
With no measure of the human cost
When poverty and greed conspired
To sell their children's skin for gold

__________________________

That said, we sure did have a time
laughing, singing, going wild
Drinking beer and swilling wine
Like Cinderella at the ball, considering that through it all
She was merely just a child

And a picture says a thousand words
as the camera shutter clicked.
And I'd buy a print to give to her.
To commemorate our lusty date
as the morning tamped the wick.

So I said goodbye with a piggyback ride
and a toast with an empty glass.
It was way past time to save our hides,
as the local Hucks had sized us up,
Not far behind as we hauled ass.

And that image will forever stick,
even with the knowledge that.
She would tear my face out of that pic,
without notice or regret to give
to the next bell bottom brat.

I just could not resist her lure
or the short term gift she gave.
Though penicillin was the cure.
When my little friend milked from his head,
the infection that he saved.

It is not my proudest moment,
or a trophy that I've won.
And in karmic ways I’ve owned it.
But I had no sense of consequence
'Round Viet Nam at 21.

My pride and judgment were confused,
like the war that we were fighting.
And it left my conscience deeply bruised,
though none of that I can retract,
its memory is biting…

_____________________

I sit and watched the children play
While reaching these conclusions
Along the hillside where they sleigh
Not sold in prostitution
As I slay demons from my past
A mental restitution
And journey through the looking glass
In seeking absolution

('06)

[Lightning Rod]

scott, I have rarely seen this tight a structure used so well
it's effortless and witty and fun

arrrrrggh, matey

[westcoast]

wow. excellent writing and a tale to remember. good work, scott.

~westie

[emel.scott]

thanks LR, how'd you know I liked pirate talk
thanks westie, hard to forget