If this were one of those romantic pastorals
I'd say something to the cliche effect of
"Came upon you in a pine, and wished
I'd gone the other way," but let's face it:
to raise Black Angus on a ranch in the Adirondacks
was the unfulfilled dream of my father's father, not mine
just as much as I remember being cropped
out of pictures for the sake of the case
and if you claim to understand any of that
then you're worse off than I thought.
But this isn't like that at all, is it?
It's more along the lines of a movie
where you root for the bad guy--
the best kind, in my book--
the one whose pages
you never tire of lining.
Well, you've worn out your welcome again.
The air cav never came, those Hueys stayed grounded
and the Allied firebombing of Dresden
did far more damage than both nukes dropped combined
but they don't tell you that in history books
like we won't tell our respective kids
about the times waking up with alcohol on our breath
and each other's blood on our clothes.
No, those records will be burned
smashed, destroyed within our minds
by the shotgun of time
like clay pigeons at a skeet shoot.
Pull.
Boom.
Pull.
Bang.
Pull.
Pull.
Pull.
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