LITTLE BIG MAN by Tom Lyford
When beer-bellied Drill Instructor Minton
barks, “Ok all yew little low-life sum-bitches:
on your feet!” every stiff-starched recruit
pops to like toast from the mess hall toaster…
the exception being this day-dreaming half-pint
with ‘Rogers’ stenciled across his breast, still
chewing pensively on a stalk of grass and
whatever private thoughts a five-foot private may
entertain while sprawled idyllically on the lawn
even as death in his Smokey the Bear hat bears
down, eclipsing the sun and possibly his future.
“S’mattuh, boy? yew deaf or sumpin’?” Bravo
Company’s interest in the lethal silence goes all
keen and prurient… “No, I heard you, Drill Sergeant...”
Minton’s face twitches now; this is a moment D.I.’s
live for, this is a D.I.’s wet dream…
“So jus’ whut iz yore sorry-ass ‘scuse then,
Buzzard-bait?” (…on Wild Kingdom this would
be just before the leopard hamstrings the gazelle
and drags it down kicking as the camera pans
discreetly away). Private Rogers takes us
all in with a sweep of his hand… “Far as I
can tell, Drill Sergeant, all the little low-life
‘sum-bitches’ are on their feet...”
After lights-out, I still lie here on my bunk
listening to our lone little big man out there
circling and circling B-company’s barracks
at double-time… in the rain… the fifty-pound
pack strapped to his back…
rifle raised over his head… and
(you gotta admit it: the boy’s got heart!)
belting it right out:
“I’m a little low-life suh-hum bih-hitch!”
“I’m a little low-life suh-hum bih-hitch!”
When beer-bellied Drill Instructor Minton
barks, “Ok all yew little low-life sum-bitches:
on your feet!” every stiff-starched recruit
pops to like toast from the mess hall toaster…
the exception being this day-dreaming half-pint
with ‘Rogers’ stenciled across his breast, still
chewing pensively on a stalk of grass and
whatever private thoughts a five-foot private may
entertain while sprawled idyllically on the lawn
even as death in his Smokey the Bear hat bears
down, eclipsing the sun and possibly his future.
“S’mattuh, boy? yew deaf or sumpin’?” Bravo
Company’s interest in the lethal silence goes all
keen and prurient… “No, I heard you, Drill Sergeant...”
Minton’s face twitches now; this is a moment D.I.’s
live for, this is a D.I.’s wet dream…
“So jus’ whut iz yore sorry-ass ‘scuse then,
Buzzard-bait?” (…on Wild Kingdom this would
be just before the leopard hamstrings the gazelle
and drags it down kicking as the camera pans
discreetly away). Private Rogers takes us
all in with a sweep of his hand… “Far as I
can tell, Drill Sergeant, all the little low-life
‘sum-bitches’ are on their feet...”
After lights-out, I still lie here on my bunk
listening to our lone little big man out there
circling and circling B-company’s barracks
at double-time… in the rain… the fifty-pound
pack strapped to his back…
rifle raised over his head… and
(you gotta admit it: the boy’s got heart!)
belting it right out:
“I’m a little low-life suh-hum bih-hitch!”
“I’m a little low-life suh-hum bih-hitch!”
