Chapter 22
The latest fashion notes for the well dressed jungle scout
prescribe that the helmet be wound about with splotch cloth
so that it does not scrape loudly against overhanging twigs,
and that the stiff canvas leggings be unlaced and removed
to guard against noise caused by their brush against shrubbery.
The trouser cuffs are then wrapped tightly around the ankles
and are tucked into the sock tops to prevent snagging.
Anything that jangles must be muffled or left behind entirely.
The canteen cup is removed from the carrier and temporarily
set aside so the loosely fitting canteen will not rattle.
Dogtags are taped around the edges so they won't clink,
and belt buckle, knife, buttons, bayonet, machete
mmmand all metal surfaces
that might attract enemy attention by glinting in the sunlight
are covered with a drab coating of rich mud.
Nothing white or out of harmony with jungle color schemes
must be visibly evident, and the face, neck and hands
are treated with a liberal application of G.I. blackface cream.
Lindstrom has moved down to confer with a supply sergeant
who has been able to set up shop, and he
draws two machetes and some grenades, and some chocolate bars,
ammo clips, mosquito repellant, sulfa powder and pills, jungle kits,
halazone tablets to purify water, and a vial of brandy.
Empty your pockets of all the things that might be
of value to the enemy in case you are captured,
and above all, don't take any letters you might have,
orders, sketches or any other bits of stray printed matter
which might give the Japs a clue to American strength
or the composition and identity of the units opposing them.
Take out your wallet and look at the random scraps
stuffed into the two leather compartments along its worn fold.
There are the souvenirs of your odd moments of memorabilia,
a pocket cemetery for the things you once thought important.
Here is the address of a girl living in Atlanta.
You met her at a party for soldiers and she
said you reminded her of her brother in the Navy
so she let you walk her home and kissed you.
Here is the key to the door of your house.
If ever you verged on idolatry, this bit of metal
was holy God and guardian angel and patron saint combined.
Don't look at it so long. Put it away quickly.
Here's a sales slip from a store selling military goods.
You did not find out that you had been overcharged
until the following morning, and you kept delaying your return
till you finally forgot what you wanted to complain about.
Here is one of those little ten-cent store photographs
of an unregenerate brat you had a date with once,
and which you kept because the girl was undeniably photogenic.
Here's a calendar for the year of our war 1945,
printed in two colors and issued by the Moody Institute,
with various dates encircled for reasons long dead and buried.
Here's a receipt for a money order bearing number 13965
which you made out in the amount of six dollars
and sent on November tenth to someone you can't recall
for a purpose about which you haven't the slightest recollection.
Here are the words to a popular song, seasons old,
called "I'll Be Seeing You in All the Old Familiar
Places," which you copied out on a piece of paper
and wanted to memorize (but which you never did) because
you got sick and tired of merely humming the tune.
And here's a frayed, smudged item. It's your draft card.
