At Sea:
To Angel-face
Ive been thinking thinking, that if all the worried parents would send their daughters to sea at an early age--why there’d never be any wayward girls. “Shelors” manning their own ships in this bloody hot place, damn I hope theres enough Waves the next war to leave me stay to Hell home.
Last night I mentioned the sky, (whats a sky, its beauty lost--Tis to me, with you so far away) we’ll tonite looked again. Imagination is a marvelous antidote for monotony so I watched it for a while and got to thinking--The faterland is big, so are the heavans--we have many citys towns and villages, the sky has stars ranging from bright to very dim. Now if your far enough from home, and long hard enough to be home, the sky can readily be converted. That is, a topsy turvy version of the states can be figured out. The bright stars are large cities and they dim down according to size. If you concentrate, taint hard to pick the home right out. After picking home from the heavens, you just conjure a foo more visions and there the hill to a place is. From here on everything picks up but speedily. You climb the bloody two blocks, turn to the apartment, the door--then damn the door, tis locked. Sure it is and both
of us know why, they’ve put in the 10 oclock rule and I’m late. As in a dream, I’m stupified it can’t be true, I’m locked out. The first eve home in many moons and I can’t see my love, impossible. After an hours trying the lad turns away and so here I am again. To cure this abominable situation, a key must be placed in a secret spot--under the welcome mat or some where no one else would think to look. Honest Hon, I miss you so much that I sometimes get quite close before finding out I’m still a goodly swim away.
Had a boy reading the ships news while I typed it on the stenograph sheet tonight. My Gawd they left an awful gap in someones education, I can truthfully say that we didn’t work as a good team. His enunciation and my errors made up a terrible looking news.
Finally broke down and scribed a line to Big Oot and Muscles. Before I left, Musc. mentioned something about he and Willy being spliced. He was rather confidential, in fact he classified it as SECRET. The next time he musters around drop a gentle word or two from me as to its fine points (As the coders would say, tis a bit garbled) And as the messagner says when you hand him the coke jug, “Goffers, a bloody great que there is.” Martin says to Stinky, Juan will be a piker when we close up again. Gosh I like you, but were sorely in need of some home front morale boosters. Almost worn the old ones out--think I dont check close, you put a dab of red on each flap. I like it. You too.--
End--
Love
Kenny Lee
Comments