Leg

My clay mug is warm

hand-fired artisan

artifact

announcing the contented

contents

pretense

of a middle class

daze.

Mocha colored

sugared

and milked

of all that bravado

and hard-bitten life.

Sweetened

not cold

not black.

Guilt is sparse

parsed like powders

of saccharin

of simulacrum

substitutes

for mourning the minefield

of patriotism

paternalism

of patsies and privates

and platoon after platoon

of pretenders

in a drama

not

their own.

Dust on my bars

a tan on my scars

and a tentative air

of having been there

is all bullshit

when the news

turns from vets

to empty shoes …

Boot

after boot

after boot.

…but in my ruck

is training

and a trust

and a portrait

of a long

lost

Leg.*

* A “Leg” is a slang term for a non-airborne qualified soldier.