maybe he said something like
‘when i get back this will all be…’
but that’s just silly
if only he knew
that over medicated foliage
his mechanical bird would arc into
explosion
careening into
pathways and pointsmans
leaving an unborn daughter
to grow with wonder and want.
of course she always feared helicopters
and no wonder we never watched
movies about vietnam.
don’t collect facts or objects
that remind you of horror you
only wanted to feel
like the time your father
in a glass vial
showed you the skeleton shaker
of a rattler
that he chopped the head off
with a square shovel
in some desert wasteland
wondering if he too
would never see his children.
souvenirs are
bullshit
and so is
planning
because mortars
fall wherever
they want to.
and so will you.
happy birthday, again.
