sometimes when an ex-marine lays on the couch
he thinks that he sort of wanted to commit a genocide
and then he takes a sip of his beer
and he watches full metal jacket, platoon, apocalypse now,
all that shit they used to watch back in the gulf,
and his buddies don't yell at the screen anymore
or whoop at the cavalry charging in (yes
helicopters are called the cavalry nowadays)
and when that line comes up:
"i love the smell of napalm in the morning"
there is no chorus of voices speaking along with it
just his lips moving to form the words.
because there is no such thing as an ex-marine.
once a marine, always a marine.
semper fi, brother. semper fi.
his finger traces the phrase, written in ink,
across his forearm.
stretched. faded.
his lips move to form the words.
1 comment:
This creeped me out.
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