What is a,
The burst of a machine gun?
The bullet-ping off body-armour?
The dear girl sucking on the,
Lollipop that killed her,
When her family,
Believing it was offered by an American Soldier and,
Too readily accepted,
Strung her up high on an olive tree,
To teach her friends that sugar must not be imported?
Perhaps the divorce,
A few weeks after your return,
That thing at the park,
You under a car,
At the crack of a base-ball bat,
Is that Post-traumatic?
What is a post,
On a blog,
On living past trauma,
When all you got is,
My car wouldn’t start this morning,
And my bank account’s run dry?
I will wait for the post to change,
As it invariably does,
Post war, post eleven p.m.
When I will meet zdapslim on the internet,
-my best friend-
And discuss his problematic tooth.
-visit my postaday2011 blog-
♦photo – Carlos Barria for REUTERS at TotallyCoolPix.com♦