Poem – NG (By John Stanizzi)

NG

NG21028982 – My National Guard Service Number

1967

I remember from an early age that

when she wasn’t cursing, my mother chose

NG – the car was NG, NG the

refrigerator, my father, and me.

And so in ’67, when fear and

guilt masqueraded as angry conscience,

and I managed to finagle my way

out of the draft, I knew without a doubt

exactly what it meant to be NG.

In among the U.S. boys, the R.A.s,

I was the kid who would be going home.

No bullet filled mist, just the hum of the

morning traffic, the cool fall shadows, and

life in my lungs because I was NG.