Quiet Down the Mountain - Dogging the Watch
The morning sun’s oppressive; a nasty b*tch in heat on Rizal Avenue,
Where vendors hawk their cigarettes, baloot, and dog meat barbecue.
The jeepneys buzz the intersection like a hornet’s nest,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Olongapo is waking. Magsaysay Drive gives up its dreams.
It’s six AM in Subic Bay, Republic of the Philippines.
A sailor slouches back to base, hung over and depressed,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
His head is stuffed with sawdust. His mouth’s as dry as peanut shells.
Last night he guzzled mojo on top of all those San Miguels.
At midnight he responded to the curfew’s harsh request,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Been a year since he’s been stateside, a year since he’s been home.
Just another duty station, and another port to roam.
When he hears a stand-up comic, he reacts indifferently;
He lost his sense of humor on the South China Sea.
He’d picked a girl named Cora, and booked an air-conditioned room.
He’d paid her fifty pesos to revel in her raw perfume.
He spoke a few Tagalog words, but she was not impressed,
And it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
He held her like he knew her; embraced her warm skin tenderly.
His dreams were of Missouri; his nightmares, of the open sea.
He’d found a lonely refuge with his hand upon her breast,
And it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
A new day brings its promise of beauty and of poverty;
Of cockfights in the province, and monkeys in the mango tree,
But Subic is a working port, and work must be addressed.
Still, it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Been a year since she divorced him; a year since she’s been gone,
Just another disappointment, and another West Pac dawn.
If he laughs, it’s nothing funny; it’s the sound of irony.
He lost his sense of humor on the South China Sea.
And that chip upon his shoulder’s like that ancient, fabled boulder;
He’s a victim of his own mythology.
Copyright ©
Michael Kalavik
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