Vets

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Vets
 
Killed for yourselves,
not me.   Died ghastly jungle
deaths, believed the breeze
whistling
from an old Vet's ass
in his VFW,
where you sit now,
at the bar under his red,
white and blue decorative bomb.
 
Embalm the old bastards
in the bottles of their choice.
 
A woman with scotch
linoleum teeth says
bad’s a war was
twas the time of their lives.
 
Believe that.
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