two days ago, got into a rental with a couple navy vets
casual old folks, haven't seen war, just flew navy jets
chatted my ear half to death
about the design of trolleys and nuclear reactors

i don't see much people when i live the life i live
so an old engineer and pilot was a sobering gift
a story worth writing about in a poem
about real people, not a big-breasted girl with a drinking problem

except i wasn't much more than a shadow of a shadow
of an aimless scared kid, nothing worthwhile to tell or show
some days i feel like i know fear
but today i just don't know

checkered patterns of tired feet
sweep the bricks of a tired street
and the thought of war makes me ashamed
of bitching to my mom about "severe shoulder pain"