the poet within him
wishes i would call
more often
send letters and make the trip
for no reason
but what he fails to understand
is that i’ve already
driven to the sea
a thousand times and back again
in search of lazy sundays
naked in bed
failing in grand fashion
the military brat he will always be
is aware
that love is impractical
where children to be raised
soundly
are concerned
oh how i wish
i didn’t
already know
the way the story ends
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