TUESDAY, 11 NOVEMBER 2003
Listen (RealAudio) | How to listen

Poem: "Receiving," by Victor W. Pearn, from Devil Dogs and Jarheads (Busca, Inc.). 

Receiving

After you sprint
from the barber chair
you come to a long counter. 
Great shouting
down the halls: 
what is your waist size, 
your shoe size? 
Somebody throws a sea bag
green socks fly at you
belts, T shirts, boxer shorts, 
all the articles of clothing
you will need for the next 12 weeks. 
If you get the wrong size
too bad, tough shit, wear them. 

Then the herd
stampedes into a room
with cubical desks. 
You are given a box, 
take off your civilian
clothes, put them into
the box, and address
the box to your home. 
This is your last chance
to get rid of any contraband, 
guns, knives, drugs you may
have brought with you without
getting into trouble. 
It is the last time
you will see that box. 

Get your group shower. 
Gold dial soap bars
five shower heads
blast steam, duck under, 
lather up, rinse off, 
get out, drip dry, try on
your new boxer shorts, 
T shirt, green utility pants
and socks, black basketball shoes, 
gray sweatshirt, put on your hat
grab your sea bag and run
out the door. Everybody waiting. 

The sea bag on your shoulder
might weigh 60 pounds. 
The DI wants you to
form four lines. 
The tallest man
in front. The shortest man
in the rear of the line. 
Now put your left hand
on the shoulder of the 
man in front of you, 
and lock your right arm
around the left arm
of the man to your right. 
Now walk and stagger
like a million legged
caterpillar. 

Nobody knows how to march, 
but somehow you finally
reach your assigned quarters. 

Metal bunkbeds, wooden footlockers, 
pick a bed, put your sea bag
into the footlocker. 

You are given two green wool
blankets, two sheets, a pillow
a pillowcase, and the soft spoken
DI demonstrates how
to make your bed with
military folds, 
expects you to
make your rack
like that, 
gives you ten minutes
to make your bed. 
And when he returns
your rack made, 
you will be
standing at attention
in your skivvies. 

The angry
green and red eyed
Drill Instructor
comes in yelling
to get your covers off. 
"Take off those covers," 
everybody starts ripping
blankets and throwing them
on the floor. 
Angry DI throws people
on the floor, anybody
he can get his hands on. 
Then he grabs a recruit, 
pulls his hat off and says, 
"ladies this is your cover
and you better have
those racks made
before the other DI
gets back." 

Soft spoken DI
comes in. Your bed is made. 
You are at attention
in your skivvies. 
He checks arms, legs, backs
for bruises, wounds, 
broken bones, to be sure
we are healthy, 
then tells us to get in bed. 
At the light switch
he says, "there are armed
guards outside the door
with orders to shoot anybody
that tries to escape," 
then he turns out the lights. 
"Good night ladies." 
It is 3 a.m.