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
The Coming of the Toads 