“what would you call me?”
//david mcnayr

what would you call me
if, on one cordial Sunday,
sinking into cushions,
pulling a cat hair off my tongue,
the tube reflecting blue, green,
red in my eyes,
I left town for a while?

if I skipped out for a spell,
put on my thick leather boots,
my old army helmet, a little dented,
a 1967 cigarette hole,
a bayonet scratch or two,
and some clean underwear,
picked up a tank at the local
armory and took I-95 to Washington,
just for a little attention?

would you call me desperate?
or would you call me sergeant?