It’s a blow to the
stomach and the mouth
and anywhere else
That upper class
educated white boy
Not too many morals
with a scalpel in hand
And a drink in the other

But it was dirtied
and bloodied too many
times and nearly
every moral you
could think of
was smothered
but one-- yet
even that was
driven by a
great deal of
selfishness

The grungy mask
and behind it a
grungy mouth
With words that
came out
so foul and
wrenching.
And the places
it went, well you
know too well

And the sullen eyes
to match their face
So dim, with
tears that refuse
to come out
So they look
where they
shouldn’t but
they don’t close
as much as you think

But the girlfriends
and the inescapable
booze are really a
spiked club in the head
And they leave you
in a daze in that
wretched khaki blanket,
Your body is sweaty
(and so is hers),
making up for the bottled
up weeping

But it’s not just him
and he knows it too well
So he plays jokes on the
ones who don’t,
because they’re
all drafted, just
some don’t
quite know it

I’m sorry my friend,
it doesn’t end here.
That American boy
with the precious red hair,
can’t understand why
you wouldn’t go
with a willing heart

And that American
boy is who I fear for
Because the draftee
isn’t here anymore
to convince him
otherwise

He will die thinking
it’s what must be done,
but his real world
hasn’t even started.
He might have
drowned in the bottle
and held some hands,
but he didn’t know why,
he just did--
And that makes
all the difference

So, my friends,
at least that
sickening surgeon
had to be drafted.