It’s not a big meadow,
and it has no name on the map.
First time I went there,
two big bears
said hello and asked me to depart
which I did
most ricky tick
but the next year
I returned
and met
no bears
just one lone bee
that wouldn’t fuckin’ leave me alone
            buzz here
            buzz there
            buzz all around
so I swatted him down and
ever since
haven’t felt like a worthwhile person,
for some unfathomable reason
that bee haunts me to this day,
but this poem isn’t about
            bears
            or bees
            or meadows,
this poem is about the war,
and I leave it up to your imagination
to appreciate how hard it is
for a shy and sensitive
Bambi-loving veteran
to deal with that.