Behind the Lines

The good poet Joe
unflagging foot
soldier carries on
slogs thru tradition

His critic fires at will
who never took a hill
a couple of readers
attend his last burial

Deep in darkness
you forget stuff
your steel pot
what you have and don’t

your action figure nightly
decommissioned
on your chest no lines
no bells no whistles

Equipped with orders
and a compass but no
point to it all you’re lost
and at mail call

at parade rest or at ease
advice comments you know
anyone can dress a uniform
you’re just an average Joe