What is a,
Post-traumatic episode?
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♦
What a frankly fun blog post
Well, the traumas never end. You have illustrated that well. Wonderful poem. Rich. Thank you.
love how the poem meanders, strikes, then trickles down into your dailiness.
Exceptionally written poem…each line renders it’s own thought provoking moment.
this was sad and a little scary.
As always sharp as a knive!!!! great post my friend!!!
Trauma is from birth till death, the highlights of a life story. The olive tree is still in focus and I see that love and peace still have much to do in this world. Thank you for sharing.