After I got off submarines and got out of the navy,
No longer practicing blowing up the world on Sundays,
Making good money in the middle seventies
Enabling me to buy quarters of Columbian
Or plenty of Nepalese hash to burn
We piled into Andy’s tricked out van,
And before we pulled out of North Suburban’s
Parking lot in River Grove,
Headed for the Riviera bowling alley
And late night alcohol dispensary,
We were two-handing J’s and pipes
Like a half hour was all we had
Before we had to be back at work,
Because it was, back before “going postal”
Became a widely recognized term.
We all knew what it meant though,
Which is maybe why we deadened our senses
With such determination
To keep things from getting in or out,
But despite Koss headphones blasting XRT
Into our brains at work,
The quick doubles at the Riv,
Getting high every chance we had,
It didn’t work.
My nuclear nightmares followed me everywhere,
And Louise, long blond Viking princess hair,
Leaned in close in the back of Andy’s van
To blow me a shotgun,
But she didn’t know how far she got in
Because she was married when I fell back smiling
And held my breath as long as I could
Before I hacked my brains out
And went back to work,
Supposedly sorting your mail,
Sometimes not having a clue
What the hell I was doing.
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