Poetry–Deployment grief.
I’m just living a hollow life—zombie style.
Just doing my time while you do yours.
Don’t get me wrong; I have a hell of a gilded cage—
much better than a mountain in Afghanistan, sweating my ass off.
Dupont is great,- if you like Mayberry or Stepford.
I have no reason to complain-or at least none that I can’t feel guilty about.
My job is supposed to be easier,…more comfortable.
Damn it!–Frost could sum it up in parsimonious beauty…
I, however, am drowning (my grief) in a glass of vodka at the moment.
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