Marines Call to Say Hello

Marines call to say hello,

impress. I'm over 35 but my boys

19. They could go: Hide!

One moment spent tying a shoe,

another dying, gunshot wound or poisoned food.

Events in their mere chronology

                                              make no sense.

And the details of yr dad's life don't either.

                                                             Late night

quiet cigarette smoker. But next day,

the butts cleaned into the can. Who does that?

Lady in a skirt or overalls rolled up -- cigarette smoke.

Now it's yr dad.

                       Yr dad who

                                        watches for war.

Even if Uncle Sam disbands, dissolves

we the people will still be here and stay involved

with North America. The purple mountains majesty

                          and shining seas

little people, big people, brown, red, and white. Addicted

                          to action movies.

Perhaps there is no choice. One must sit, sitting still

                          as a buddha, sitting bull.

I can imagine myself and all others -- drivers, voters, runners --

                          little fetal muscles

at first. Metastasizing. What's it called when the cell

                          at the tip of the organ

or organism, divides, and the organ grows? It's called

                          girl on a bicycle.

I find I make no sense. Her c**t, a practicality to her, is

                          delicious to me

a miraculous sea lettuce or snapdragon. You've heard it before.

                          A moral dilemma

wrapped in robes and silks and odors. Yet, come close,

                          and business beckons

work gets done, life goes on, hair grows in, we go on

                          vacation

the Marine Corps calls, desperate for new fetuses to teach

                          purposeful workmanlike killing

I'll do my own killing, thanks, when violence comes to the neighborhood

                          if I've got your back

your back's gotten and if I'm on point, the point's taken.

One world under God invisible with liberty and justice for all who

                          Art in heaven

what the hell's his name.

                                    Nemesis.

                                                 Hysterical.

The small war of an especially inept empire. The world's too big

to swallow as the Krauts and Nips found out. Empire

is self-correcting. Them dark-skinned mustachioed ****heads

who can't fix their own electricity seem to be kicking our asses

pert good. As did the gooks before them. All to the good. A

good lesson to know and then we all become friends following

the brawl. We apparently cannot skip the fight. It must

be fought, and f**k the girls.