Friday Must Have Been Wearing Camouflage Poem by Roger Gerald Hicks

I did not hear nor perceive it in any way, then glancing at my watch, there it was, a soldier plunging a bayoneted deep in my chest, then twisting the rifle to spill as much blood as possible on the wasted year, wasted decades, while I aged.

I stare with that confused, unbelieving visage of a combatant, arm shot off lying beside him on the sand.Friday, how can that be? It was Saturday just yesterday.I was young, had things to do. Dates to attend. Many jokes to recount to lipstick that would spread across a lovely visage in mirth.

I'm terrified to retire: Weeks will disappear; months will fly by before I awake.I'll regress.Kennedy will just become president.Hawaii will be stunned by the bombs of an invader. Poland will fall to the devil in only two months.My mother will slap me gently for biting her nipple.I will view light of the first day- first of 28,470 days that stretch before me like miles girthing earth.

"There were 5000 staples in this box once, " I said to myself one day, staring at the empty cardboard container.How was it possible to use so many?What important papers did each isolate from others.Were any chapters of good books?I hope so; but doubt it.