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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