Dusted off a few beers we did
painted our names on the road
night before graduation just as
our brothers and fathers did
the moon a dust-brown blob                                                   
in the wind, clouds like wads
of chewing gum we stuck
under desks in math class.
The emergency hall lights
were as red as the lipstick of Miss Ratfix
or whatever her name was
marking us tardy after we smoked
a bowl.
Our names faded
in the asphalt a year later
back from bootcamp every long hair
complaining ‘bout our buzz cuts
and why didn’t we run to Canada
instead of warring for the man why
every one of them high with high
draft numbers—righteous dicks
some of them suicides within a year

but us, just us on leave puncturing
the night sky with beers scared
to say we were scared of the year
to come and what we would do.