The Rocking Chair Fleet.

Faulkner, John

   The Rocking Chair Fleet

   My face has never felt salt spray
   And bone dry are my feet
   I am not of the Navy, but
   Of the rocking chair fleet

   I sit the weeks and months out in
   My wooden-bottomed chair
   With dandruff on my shoulders and
   The Navy in my hair

   The braid was worn to silver on
   This dark blue sleeve of mine
   My trousers bag about the knee
   And at the seat they shine

   My breast is bare of ribbons and
   My record's bare of feats
   My heart is full of envy of
   The men who fight the fleets

   I've sat behind my desk until
   My seat and soul are sore
   And patriotic fervor sags
   Each day a little more

   I joined up to fight, and now
   I'd like to find the one
   Who gave me this damned rocking chair
   And someone else the gun