Classless Magazine

I know the flat asphalt desert here makes you dizzy,

gets you motion sick to watch wasted moments whip by.

I know you love drinking unsweetened iced-tea & rum  

and getting eaten my mosquitoes in the air craft hanger

while the other guys slip and slide along flat tarmac mirages

carving streaks of pink and blue through the air,

LED light spilling from the snarling lips of second hand Harleys.

I know you keep your head down around the house

ever since your dad found your nail polish collection (all 14)

in the tin box he gave you for cigarettes

and he made you pour them all out into the bathroom sink:

a melting gasoline swamp, the smell still makes you sick.

I know you listen to music all night sometimes

because you find a song you don’t want to stop hearing,

writing poetry while candles flicker and choke.

I know you’re tired of loving with nobody to love,

making up online personas, typing words you’ll never say,

hearing about other guys like you

learning they couldn’t keep living this way.

I know the sight of mountains, hills, even trees with low branches

still makes you sweat, makes you a little bit anxious

that no one will get to see the view if you don’t.

I know you’re faster than everyone thinks

and that you always turn around after you run across the base

to watch the haze rise up from the weeds.

‘Life’s like war’ they say in the army,