(another depressing poem i wrote when i was 19, in the army)
Tyler R. Martin
I staggered into work, hungover.
Throwing up in my dress-blues,
Ribbons and metals rattling,
I grimace, wryly noticing:
Powdered eggs look even worse
Half digested in a government sink,
One which no longer smells like bleach.
“An improvement,” I thought,
Patting my pocket
my gum is in my other uniform…