I tried to avoid the draft  
instead I stayed to serve  
breakfast 
lunch 
radio dinners in their aluminum coffins 
(all short orders) 

sex—the main  
love—the side  
blues on tap 

“And how would you like  
your brown-eyed baby girl?”  I dished 
wiping the spit-shine from my tits 
“Sunny-side up    
or 
over easy?” 

“Easy,” you groaned— 
consciousness slipping from its zip-lock bag—   
Nirvana  now only  
 the name of a rock band 

“Easy, huh” 
me   brushing flies from your lips— 
the stench of the heart like rare steak gone bad— 
your boyhood buddy cooling in the freezer 

I tried to avoid leaving  
but you left me left and right   
left  right  left 

Your teeth and their chattering infantry  
are still marching   
When you make it as far as the living room 
send me a telegram   won’t you? 

Till then… 
please consult your manual for further instructions 

The baby’s in the oven 
The napalm’s in the fridge