Eve of Destruction
was the name of my father’s
truck during his tour,
the Vietnam Disaster
where he battled and bled
like he was the lone GI,
smoking cigarettes in the rain
and buckling under monsoons
like VC cowering in the bushes.
Father,
who to this day despises
the acrid burn of incense
(‘got enough of that overseas),
who keeps his formal uniform
hanging with stiff crease
by the side of his bed,
has always been a soldier.
And sometimes in the night,
he has strange dreams.
He grumbles constantly
but lights up when I ask
how his new truck is running.
He is my father, my soldier,
who stands proud but numb,
in one hand his heart
and in the other, his grenade.
From the Bottom
Someone give me a rope
so I can climb up
from down here.
I’ve been here too long
and I want to go.
Or if there isn’t a rope,
can someone reach down
and grab my hand?
It’s dark,
I’m alone,
and the world notices nothing.
Can someone, anyone,
drop something down to me —
this hole can’t possibly
be this deep.
Coma
My emotions are dead inside of me
like a stillborn baby |
forced to keep silent.
My emotions curl soft around me
keeping me going but
still taunting me the same.
I am dead inside —
like leaves in winter
like a wife finding love letters
in her husband's pocket.
My skin does not feel pricking
my eyes are not responsive to light
my tear ducts — dry
my laughter — hushed.
All of this inside a head
that can pretend with the best of them,
that struggles weakly
just to make it through the day
Don’t Open the Door to Strangers
I wait
my face plastered against the glass
and my feet aching
and I wait for you to come.
I try to identify headlights,
to find the set that is familiar
so I can run to the door
and greet you when you enter.
But some nights,
despite that I have waited
for what seems like hours
for you to return from work —
regardless that I have created
an unrealistic reunion in my head,
and besides the fact
that my idle time has almost
driven me mad,
when you walk through the door
it’s almost as though
you never came home at all.
I recently found these in a local publication and am trying to locate Stesha and her father. He would be one of us — a DQS Vet.
I thought I’d share these with you. A couple of them can be interpreted in more than one fashion. I’m sure that several of you are familiar with the Quad-50 known as "Eve of Destruction". |
