Poetic License: ‘Where were you on May 8, 1945?’

Joe Pacheco
(Previously featured on NPR’s “Latino USA”)
Playing hooky at the New Amsterdam
movie theatre on 42nd Street
and coming out after sitting through
“Behind the Rising Sun”
and “Commandos Strike At Dawn,”
blinded for about ten seconds by sunlight
then saw that Times Square
was filling up quickly with people,
lots of them women and servicemen
and the newsstand guy shouting,
“Hitler Caput, Germans Quit!
Read all about it!” –
the cops directing cars
away from Times Square
and all the people into it,
the women grabbing
every soldier and sailor
and kissing and even French kissing
the living daylights out of them,
the men looking for women
to kiss and finding them
and before I knew it,
the women kissing me,
one after the other,
I had never kissed strange women
before, grownup or young,
I became excited but you really
couldn’t do anything because
it was too crowded
with more and more people
shoving into the square,
holding their fingers high
in V for Victory signs –
by the Red Cross War Fund booth
in the middle of the square,
the loudspeakers began playing
“There’ll Be A Hot Time
In The Town Of Berlin”
by Frank Sinatra,
a girl in a drum majorette outfit
was lifted on top of a Red Cross truck
and led the crowd around her in cheering:
“two down, one To-jo,
next stop -Tok-y-o!”
reminding us that only half the war
was over and reminding me
that it had already been over
for my brother
who was killed in ’44;
pushing my way out of the square,
I walked the two miles downtown
against a tide of wildly cheering girls
and beer-guzzling teen-age boys
rushing to the square
to get drunk for victory,
found no one at home, looked in the mirror,
saw my face and mouth covered
with the lipstick prints of the strangers
with whom I had shared
a moment of public intimacy,
wiped them all off
with my mother’s cold cream
just in time – my mother came in
and I could see she had been crying –
“Did you hear the news?” she asked me,
“Yes,” I answered,
“They let us out of school early.”