to the edge
unwillingly,
I at least thought to bring
a pen
and a pad of paper
to take notes about
how long it took
to get there
Dateline: A wednesday in May
I was born
with the troops
waiting outside the door
They busied themselves
until they could draft me
Some years they just waved
through windows
while holding bayonets;
other years
they showed me
the heads
they decapitated
in their boredom,
sometimes their own
I couldn't tell
if that was supposed to
represent
a victory
or signal impending defeat
Other people
had ballerinas
and carnival barkers
waiting for them;
handing out funnel cakes
and lockets
I received
an inkwell full of blood
and a scrapbook
of blurry photos
that meant nothing
no matter how long
you stared at them
On graduation,
I joined the fight
of the 100-year war;
listening to an old fan
whirring inside my tank
while I made up stories
of what was happening
in a conflict
beyond me
that I didn't
sign up for