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

An eye for an eye

He closes his eyes and
tries to forget
all the times it was someone
else's eyes closed
forever in front of him


--

April PAD Day 30 - calling it a day

The warrior

Dedicated to Sgt. William Stacey, a 23-year-old Marine who died in Afghanistan a few weeks ago. And to all the warriors we have lost and love.


William was a warrior.
So off to war he went,
as warriors often do.

He kissed his girl
and faced his fate,
in a far off place

full of warriors who
had kissed thier own
wives and mothers

faced their own fates,
fighting to protect
an idea that burned

as deep as their love
for the women who
would stare at some

far-off place as they
thought of the men
they loved, off at war,

hoping they would
come home to love
them once  more.

William was a warrior.
He died for this love.
As warriors often do.


Poetic Bloomings #42 - moral of the story