A.G.E's Joint

  It's time. I must go. You can't hold me forever In the shelter of moss and twigs. A world awaits of shoals For my raft To succeed Or fail. 

Reveille sounded across base.  Mike drug himself out of his bunk and blindly put on fatigues.  It was a short day, only PT this morning , then on leave until Monday. Sarge's  voice droned as he went through the routine:  50 pushups, 50 crunches, Jumping Jacks. Thoughts of Susan,  the girl he met the other day at the NCO were drifting in his head. Long brown hair and sweet smell filled his mind. She stayed in a dorm at the local college. Not only had he gotten her number, she had agreed to a picnic.  Mike's mind wasn't on task as he stumbled through the obstacle course. There was a scream in his ear.He shrugged it off. He was just another GI trying to get through this assignment and on to the next one.  An hour and a half later, he was done and headed towards the barracks. A quick shower and change into civvies. With a wave to the guard, he pointed the Mini into town. He drove up to the parking gate.The guard looked at him warilyas he buzzed him through...

Monday night and it's late. The Busch cans are stacked on the table in front of me and the last thing  I remember is  a fast food law commercial before drifting off. "Over $1 Billion recovered. Call today to get your best settlement..." ******************************************************** I find myself in a large room, maybe a warehouse. A stack of storage containers sits in the corner of the room, each contains a dream.  Eenie, Meenie, meinie, moe. I choose a pink one, the second one from the top. The effort it takes to pull it out is exhausting. I hesitate briefly. Is it showtime in my dreams? Will it be comedy or tragedy? The room goes dark. A light flickers to my right and I enter it. I am in a river gorge, Palisades Shoals. Teenagers are climbing the cliff that runs along the bank. At the base is a group of girls dressed only in twelve-pack beer cartons, daring each other to jump naked into the water. Some boys nearby overheard and began to cheer: "Show us! ...

The road runs along it's path Ending at the car park Runners ramble along the ruins Of the old paper mill. Slapping sounds of spawn Working their way along the bank Fluid flowing to carry them To the fisherman wading there. Squirrel stares down at me Sitting on my bench Taking in the promenade Of humanity healing their souls. 

  Another hot Friday night at on the patio at Good Ol’ Days and we were at our normal spot on the patio.  The evening was warm and the beer was cold.  We had hung together since elementary school and now that we were in college, little had changed.  Friday and Saturday nights were spent at a table in a bar somewhere.  The fact it was the Fourth of July weekend just made it more of an excuse to down pitchers of beer and eat Flower Pot sandwiches.   The tab was on its second trip around the table, when the discussion turned to what everyone was going to do the next day.  There was going to be a pool party, but that didn’t start until later on.  Someone said  we should float on the Chattahoochee River.  And in the drunken fog, that sounded like a damn fine idea.  We had access to a couple of six man rafts, so equipment wasn’t going to be problem.  Transportation back would be.  But we would call someone...