i miss the weight
of body armor defining
the edge of ribs
curve of resting
spine after a long day
outside the wire.
I still miss the smell
of jet fuel funking up
morning air, sun
a flat orange disc
strolling up over the dirt
lot where tanks park.
I still miss the clack
of long guns rearranged
and the snick-clack of
handguns armed at the gate,
a thump of artillery out at
the airfield as we watch
from the highway, out
the main gate, just
in time to avoid
lockdown.
orphan poems 