Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

for those who volunteer during wartime

when i crawl back through the door
bloodied from playground war

my body requires a lap
upon which to climb

wishing to watch the explosions
of a peckinpah reel world
from behind your beard

because some part of me
will always be a
sad eyed little girl
wearing a steel pot helmet
keenly aware
daddy is never coming home

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