I do not think
my mind can function
without these
traumatic lubricants
and bloody unguents.
While the nation
celebrates independence,
I am reminded,
in the bursts and booms
and falling remnants,
that I am a slave to
what haunts me…
To this millstone
I am tethered
and to its master
I am indentured.
He is unforgiving,
unrelenting,
and won’t let me rest
without a whipping.
Whether it be
a cup of coffee
in the graveyard
dirt at Bagram,
hell raining from
the reaper above,
or the slab that
held so many loved ones up,
I am rendered helpless,
paralyzed, and yelping,
as the tittering demons
climb in, wreck everything,
and eat too many helpings.
If it seems I blew you off,
try and understand that I’m
holding on with all I’ve got.
If I get a chance,
or the master looks away,
I’ll try and bring the millstone
to a stop.
©️ Obol, 2019.
