Saturday, November 10, 2012

Desert Windfall

Stationed in Kuwait, ostensibly to fix generators,
you steal apples to feed Adam, 
the base's lone resident camel.
If caught, you could face a courl marshal.
You stand before a wall of sand, hair too short
To be ruffled by the wind. Your fatigues
appear splotched with dust and vomit.
Your emails are agreeable and bland,
No doubt rifled through for digital contraband.
Still, you tell your wife about the apples,
And she tells me, our conversation
Punctuated by static and silence
No doubt the army brass has more pressing matters to attend to
than pilfered fruit, than a dromedary's cidery diarrhea.
There are wires to be strung across the desert.
There are driverless caravans to command.
There are steel-tipped seeds to plant.
Finish your job and come home, my friend.
Your house still stands intact outside of Denver.
The wildfires you watched from your porch 
Have been extinguished
Keep humping your toolbelt through the dust.
It's autumn here and the orchards burn 
And burst with apples waiting to be picked

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