My Son,
My Son,
Terry,
called and said
“Dad,I’m going to Iraq.
My girlfriend’s dad is
the sergeant over the base
that the Italians left.
I’m not enlisting.
I’ll be working for
the Vice President’s company.
I’ll be managing the base
as a civil servant.
I’ll let you know
when I get settled there.”
4 thoughts on "My Son,"
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It’s like the beginning of a story, very intriguing
Leaves me curious about what happened next. Dread-inducing poem.
Safe travels!
So much left unsaid in this piece