Tuesday, October 14, 2014

No man left behind

I never wanted a man in uniform.
Though, I always did have the talent
for attracting what I didn't want, as
if life was teasing me

with some screwed up game of
permanent "opposite day."

No, military men were away too much;
couldn't wrap my brain around the torture
of loving and lusting for someone too
far away to hypnotize with

a flash of flesh, lotion bottles
in every latrine.

I didn't dream of sharing a bed
with a Marine whose nights were filled
with machine gun fire, whose train of
thought always returned to the

secrets that made him cry out
in his sleep.

He startled so easily. Called himself a
chicken for not wanting to go back
a fourth time; knowing no amount of
liquor could make him forget

how this war had already broken
him beyond repair;

no longer one of the few good
men, though Semper Fi still ran through
his blood -- a brotherhood, loyalty, gimmick to
sell all of us on the

idea that no man would ever
be left behind.

Sunday Whirl #182 -- machine, lust, liquor, tease, flesh, trains, gimmick, chickens, torture, lotion, hypnotizing, brains, uniform


  1. Replies
    1. Thanks, Mosk. I don't think people really understand just how bad it is for a lot of the guys coming home and/or adjusting to civilian life. Really sad.

  2. Excellent poem- Yes they do come very scarred for life. Doesn't matter what war it is or what the name they give to the trauma that they suffer through.

  3. Very powerful and moving poem .. it's hard to read but I'm glad I did. Thanks.

    1. Probably harder to write and live through than it was to read. But I'm glad you did, Georgia. ;-)



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