Perspective

Each cool morning I carry one
bowl of porridge across camp, crunching
boots across small chilled gravel to the north
berm of the parking lot to dine
alone.

From here the sky is widely
available.

Large portions of sun
rise without gazing through chain
link, without
craning over t-walls.

This morning
Muttley the dog sniffs twenty
one cold trucks waiting in the
lot, looking for explosive
evidence.

After a late night of
discipline, planning to
plan a plan,
Muttley
offers my drowsy mind a fur
driven reminder that ego
driven pony shows are slipshod
illusion, only an officer’s
wet dream in a
war zone.

______________________________________________________

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