After it’s over
The war
pours the first
drink of
every evening
after it’s over
the war
is a three am
booty call
that makes
you sweat
and scream
after it’s over
the war
is the only
story you
remember
around the
campfire the
only verse
you remember
of any song
It’s a peach pit
a corn husk
a shell without
a crab
after it’s over
the war
is a confessional
you pray in
after the priest
has gone
for the day
after it’s over
the war
tells you
deep down
you are
nothing more
than a stack
of letters
they forgot
to mail home.
First job after the war
I got a job
in a prison
third shift
what they called
the hanging hours
because everyone
told me that
nothing good
happens in prison
after the lights
go out
my VA doctor
asked me
if I realized
I had traded
a dangerous
situation for
another dangerous
situation from war
to prison all because
that was what felt normal
to me now and that
he could not see how
I could get any
better in that environment
and I remember
thinking that
the real problem
in my life since
the war was trying
to sleep next
to my wife
trying to not
run outside
when a helicopter
flew over the house
trying to not cry
for no reason
in public places
trying to hold
my 2 year old daughter
as softly as a father
is supposed to
trying to wash
blood off my hands
at three in the morning
the real danger
in my life was
trying to live
like I could ever forget
everything that
came back with me
everything that
did and didn’t fit
in my duffle bag.
Matthew Borczon is a retired Navy Sailor who served in Afghanistan in 2010-2011 he is the author of 19 books of poetry his most recent Twelve Gauge is available from Rust Belt Press. He is a nurse in a plasma donation center and the father of 4 great children.
