There's arsenic in apple seeds.

It's a full-mooned Tuesday night
that'd blend in with the rest
if my roommate hadn't asked me
if I'd heard the choppers
overhead.

The President's in town
giving a speech at West Point
trying to justify his decision
to send 36,000 troops overseas
when he initially promised
to Bring 'em Home.

Any voter worth his lead knows
that vows made in No-Man's-Land
don't count.

I turn off my bedroom light
and crouch down low enough
to get a good view through my window.
There's nothing but the whir
of the rotors and a dazzling white face
made of astral cheese.

Another liar in the sky.

I go back to my book
and stroke my semi-automatic.
Just another night stockpiling ammo
waiting for the other shoe
to drop.