Crashing motel parties
at Virginia Beach
I meet two pretty zealots.
One has a brother lost
to a tipsy driver and the other
the anti-war daughter
of Fort Story brass.
Okay, I’m guilty of driving
a five-ton flatbed to Norfolk
once a week in a hungover state.
That’s it I swear.
Otherwise, I’m a foot sailor
stationed at Dam Neck who
just happened to be whistling
“Ballad Of The Green Beret!”
Billboard rates it number one
for God’s sake!
But thanks for noticing,
can’t whistle worth a shit.
I swear to never DWI if I ever
own a car but I can’t please
the other beauty short
of desertion, self immolation.
So I bolt, romance my bottle
of cheap wine at the shore.
The sea, as calm as a parking lot or slate
conjures up children chalking
drunk driver names and victims,
millions of impounded autos
suddenly shrouding them.
Hollywood is busy writing
a clunker screenplay for John
Wayne’s Special Forces fling.
Maya Ying Lin is six or seven,
asleep in Athens, Ohio maybe
mining the first hint if it.
About Thomas Michael McDade:
McDade lives in Monroe, CT with his wife, no kids or pets. He works as a computer programmer in the plumbing supply industry. He's been most recently published on the Poetry Landfill Website.
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