Raw Yellow Chicken Scabs

I ate a piece of raw chicken on
accident. I didn’t see all those yellow

scabs. The last time I took a piss
was a couple of minutes ago.

May I have the blue sweater you’re sitting
on? It smells like two kinds of farts in here. I need to walk

more. The inner parts of my thighs shift when
my backside twitches. I hate this diner

we always go to. The coffee taste like
stale almonds. I noticed a pile of

guts on the sidewalk on my way back from
the doctor. It looked like noodles and oatmeal

with French salad dressing. I would have stepped
in it if hadn’t been for the seagull

staring at me. He kept saying he was
lonely and it caused me to look down.

I heard a soldier say

Such a bad day to find a rope and friend,
such a bad day to hide the sour touch of hunger, of watchful sin.
My faith is not strong enough to be answered. My faith is
broken. And yet I hold on to a bible and a photo.

Outside, I hear a child call, in long and extended
soft yells, of ‘I am lost, where’s home’

This little voice sounds like my daughters voice,
and I almost cry out ‘yes, dear I am here’
but my daughter is state side, at school,
limping her way in a classroom.
my half heart says run to the lost child,
hold her, and help her find a mother.
This voice, so patient and enduring, calling out,
is in the way of war time orders.
The child walks in front of the truck.
My buddy speeds up to run her over.
As he sings the songs of boot camp training
‘Kill them on a Sunday morning,
Bomb them on their way to prayer’

Like usual I join in and don’t care.