Burned-Out Combat Boots

You see this jacket? Just fabric to you. You never smelled

the sand burn into your boots. Hands on the counter, you roll your

eyes. I still see tracers every time I blink twice.

You call it just a job. I call it names I can't repeat.

I left my 20s in the desert, left your courage in a tweet.

You talk like war is simple, like it's some action movie scene. You never scrubbed

blood off a humvee door 'til your fingers turned green. You wouldn't survive

what I've been through. You'd break by dawn, I promise you.