Bunk Beds

Knowing. The ugly is close. Pale dew on fragile stalks. Dirty footprints on the oft forgotten path. Scavengers and pirates. Confound the time machine. As it bolsters and brags. About. Places it will never reach.

The patriot in her denim skirt dazzles the war. With heavy grenades and red underwear. The socialist in her drunken stupor assaults the conservative in her clothes. Little lies and big ones. All the stories we write to prove they are wrong.

The dead arrive from the battlefield. In torn towels and dirty rags. Buckets full of choices full of holes. Pennies on the ante to lose everything again.

I might've known her once. Long ago. When the roads were still small. And we were going somewhere. I might've lied and said we had choices. Because I still wish we had.