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WHAT IS IT GOOD FOR?
War.
And so what if others merely call it sleep.
I gird up my loins, untangle the twist
in my underwear, and
deploy into the theatre
of combat known as my bed.
Let the Battle of the Night begin. Artillery and
flak illuminate the shifting front.
True, things haven’t been going well, but not for want of
valor. Ambushes. Counter-attacks. Mayhem.
The usual tossing and turning.
Yes, I am besieged and outgunned.
Consider:
Wave after wave of dreams overwhelm my position, and
even a soldier has to take a pee now and again.
The standard-issue blankets keep sliding into the foxhole
near my bed.
They bunch up and give away my bunker.
I’ve thought of suing for peace, but my tormentors swear
they’ll fight to the death.
Which gives me pause. I am not fighting for money. Land? Who cares.
Grand ideals? Pshaw.
Just an average guy trying to get a decent night’s sleep,
yet bullets buzz by my head while I belly crawl through the muck.
Somewhere there’s a trench where I can find peace.
Suddenly an explosion from hell lights up the field.
I duck behind my pillow. Cowering. Blinded. Disoriented.
I cover my head.
“Good morning!”
December 2011