by Ashley Romero

_

–

They shipped me off to Iraq and I don’t know when I’m coming back
I sit in wooden guard shacks carving poetry and drawing graffiti
Lost in the wonder of broken paths and dreams dried hope
The air feels like a blow dryer on high heat
If there is a hell this is it
This shithole called Iraq
My face burns from the devil’s steady eye
I’m trapped in theater where nobody’s ever free,
And soldiers live the wrath of political games
But there is no shame in my heart
Only patriotic pride