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          "Lights out at 2100"

          by Linda L. Tuttle

           

          "Yes sir" "No sir" The only reply allowed as I was
          drafted into my fathers Army at birth, without
          consent or legal representation.
          A drill sergeant, he held our house together
          by rules and regulations
          posted before I could read
          but pointed out to me
          with long straight fingers
          and tight white knuckles.
          Roaring he demanded respect
          as mother and I stood stiffly at attention.
          Roll call at 0600, dinner at 1700,
          house inspection every Friday at 1300.
          He barked commands in rapid order,
          firing words with his machine gun voice
          aimed at us the enemy.
          Finally I was granted a dishonorable
          discharge at eighteen,
          having disappointed him
          in any number of ways.