PTSD

Yesterday and tomorrow will prove it’s best
To think only about today.
Cuffs and collars become 80grit.
Everything strapped to your back
Is made of brick.
Corners, windows, and everything
Hold your next burden of terror
Or sin.

Mom and dad hid the scissors and silverware
After you tried to explain to them

That cordite smelled like sulfur
And brimstone.
Your demons are hip high with wet eyes
And a thousand years away
From a thousand and twelve years of age.

The neighbor’s help is a look of pity,

And a dollar;

Donated for a paper ribbon on the wall at Petco.
Upon which they wrote their own name.

Your help is in pints, fifths
And near misses,
Or that fucker at the VA.
He doesn’t care or doesn’t believe
But he most certainly doesn’t help.

Regardless and right now,
You need to focus on how
To convince the hiring manager
That those things which make you vomit,
When they come into the light,
Taught you great customer service skills.

And, more
Than just how

To avoid getting shot.