Different War But the Whores Never Change

viet nam
delivers a
heavy kick the
weight of the shrapnel
imbedded in his right leg
in nam the vision jammer existed
from self-teachings on the power of
fantasy and illusion bats flew circles
above the vision jammer as he rode the
moonlit asphalt hard and fast

it kept
him alive
and delivered
him home safe but
not sound no vet ever
came home sound

war fragment
reminiscence collectively
floated on top of what was
left of gray matter

visions of
a night-wandering
seductress danced nude
on a black-and-white tiled
checkerboard floor as shiny
as the gold hoops piercing her
nipples

he throttled
down and the shovelhead
ceased the euphoric thunder
the nicotine tasted sweeter than
pralines but when the vision jammer
drank whiskey all things tasted sweeter
especially the flesh of a hot woman

his war-stained
hands pulled the
red baron's over his
inflamed eyes and he
snugged  the stars and stripes
bandana around his scarred forehead
not about to lose a piece of America again

the asphalt
and moon turned red
castle whores motioned
to him from outside castle
balconies

unmistakable obscenities
echoed throughout whoreland
their soliciting voices sounded
relentless like the voice of his
platoon sergeant john darrius kalitzy
jd for short

a thumbs up
sign was all he
cared to offer out
of appreciation to their
bribe of white powder he
politely eased the throttle
and watched the moon reflect on
their red mirrors

the snow lines
dissipated into
their racy bloodstreams
he smiled and took his left
hand off the grip plugging a
nostril as if he were indulging
with these perfumed whore babies
and to his surprise one tossed down
a vial of snow and shouted from the
powder slopes above "One for the road!"

the vision jammer
didn't do powder but
then again he didn't do
war until it was assigned
to him

he thought
cocaine paralleled
with war just different
lines were used to fight the
enemy

Copyright Ms. Sage Sweetwater, Celebrity firebrand lesbian novelist