This is when I realized that I was, indeed, THAT far behind. Here is the Wordle from the current week’s Baker’s Dozen, followed by one from last week’s words. Brenda Warren, you are a creative source and very much loved by this here sharp little blog!! This is also at my poetic meeting place, Poets United.
Ironically, the two poems could be a “before” and “after” sequence. But as it is, I’ll pray for peace. Amy
RECRUITED
Ain’t no draft in this war
‘sides, the rich folks’d
pull strings so their kid’d
be son-of-a-Bush Leaguin
We got through Boot,
crack troops, they say.
Yeah, there’s crack for sure
here, and some good weed
Bad meth got Duffy in
a zombie trance then BOOM! he’s
beatin his chest, temper real high,
hell, he was real high, making a
racket, kickin over the table
beer makin soup outta my
Lucky Strikes. Now Duffy, he’s
locked up, latch like a dog.
Recruiter, he says at the BK,
“Currently (yeah, they talk like that)
we require troops who refrain from
drug use and talk straight, you know?”
Yeah, I can hear him now over the bombs.
Straight, but you know that ain’t about talk,
it’s bout the showers. And somethin bout drugs.
“Hey, I can do that,” I say, “sign me up.”
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For the Sunday Whirl: Draft, Crack, Spare, Refrain, Strike, Temper, Chest, Blend, String, Racket, Trance, Latch, Current.
——————————–
DAY 38
Crawlin to another meeting
in my rust-stained Corona.
Dirty jeans and the same shirt
I wore overnight in the back seat.
Parkin in the shadows, near
little bluffs where prairie grasses
brush against the very air,
I swear, it’s a real trip.
Now the willow slaps the roof
of my car, dippin low to whisper:
“Here we are again, my friend.
Remember the first time, you
trembled, decaf in one hand,
12-Step book in the other.
Three days out of the mud then,
not stoned, not wasted? One nerve
short of suicide?”
Damn if the tree ain’t right.
I remember that night,
I was sure enough that scared,
cause the meeting was downstairs
in a church. Only sacred vessels
are in there, not homeless guys.
The willow creaks and sighs,
“Don’t forget the man
with a nail in each hand.
Never a pillow for his head,”
the weeping willow said.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For LAST WEEK’S Whirl: Crawl, Shadows, Nail, Corona, Vessels, Brush, Stain, Bluffs, Trembled, Stones, Willow, Mud.
Sharp Little Pencil 
kaykuala
To fight for the country is the ultimate. Sadly those available as recruits now are a different lot. The patriotic crowd gets stained by the addicts which is fatal in the long run. That’s progress, Amy!
Hank
Sherry Blue Sky
Whoa! Both of these are spectacular. You totally nailed it with the voice, the inferences, in the first one and the ending is really good. It has a punch. The second is just as real, the trembling, the “one nerve short of suicide”…..and the last stanza just says it all. Great work, Amy.
El Guapo
two great poems.
I really liked the flow of the first.
wordsandthoughtspjs
Amelita, the first is a punch to the gut, girl. You do tell it like it is. Good see you with us. I was wondering where you were.
Pamelita
p.s. I am out of a computer until next Friday, but my husband is sharing his until then 😉
Tumblewords
Oh, wow! Just WOW! These are terrific! Love the power, the dialect and the energy.
julespaige
Thanks for your visit…Wow. I have a niece and a nephew in the ‘service’ – I just can’t imagine what they are going through. Both have been/are stationed in harms way. And yet what is harms way when we can’t get out of our own way?
Our children almost went that route, but for various reasons did not commit. Now they (and other family members) fight a different ‘war’ on our home turf. Being volunteer firefighters. So much training for that accident of fate, twisted metal, fire screaming. Even after living with this type of ‘on call’ volunteerism for close to twenty-five years…I still cringe when they go on a ‘call’.
Lindy Lee
You said it and well with your great poetry style…