War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

there is an end

there is an end to all this,
12 hrs canned in an ISO
converted into an office
pushing papers, debating
beer, men, writing emails,
dining at the Lux
or Cambridge or Cat-in-the-fucking-Box,
wandering endless loops
of the Boardwalk (how many times
is that guy going to try and flog that rug
before I cave, hit the B nk of Afghanistan
ATM, spend, spend, spend)
dodging mercs., dodging senior NCO’s,
then go rack out in another ISO
filled with bunkbeds and heavy metal.

there is an end to all this,
soon you will see your children,
your girlfriend, your wife, your man,
or the one who promised to wait
(and he better fucking not pull-the-pin until you’ve at least caught your breath)
or that one you hooked up with
online, you filling your leave
with little bullets of rvs
to ease a long tour.

there is an end to all this,
soon leave and you’ll be
flyfishing, or lying on a beach,
or refinishing the deck,
or seeing the new born baby
you’ve never met,
or just lounging in bed
with her/him for 48 hrs.

yes, an end to all this,
and for another roto
their families, their friends,
knowing their feet are on the ground,
night terrors, dread of cars
coming down the street,
knocks at the door,
there is a beginning.

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled there is an end. It was posted here on April 22, 2010.


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