“Your Average Thursday”

(another depressing poem i wrote when i was 19, in the army)
Tyler R. Martin

Today:
I staggered into work, hungover.
Throwing up in my dress-blues,
Ribbons and metals rattling,
I grimace, wryly noticing:
Powdered eggs look even worse
(just slightly)
Half digested in a government sink,
One which no longer smells like bleach.
“An improvement,” I thought,
Patting my pocket
… Fuck…
my gum is in my other uniform…

3 thoughts on ““Your Average Thursday”

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