Home » Poems » Michael Zavaletta » Class Act

Class Act

The simplest of starts,
A decade of revolution,
When paternity and guidance drifted apart,
With leather jacket banners marked my breakout social intrusion,
To replace the sorrowful suits and camo bandannas,
Loathing the silver idols lining the streets peddling their new cause,
Of fire and brimstone raining down on the icy plains of Alaska,
Preaching patriotic mantras tinged with bloodthirsty cried to give you pause,
And consider the cozy live you've been living behind white picket bars,
So I heeded the call and traded in my wanderlust and dreams of diamond rings,
To take up arms for my country and its thirteen stars,
Earning my spot in the chorus of national anthems that the people sing,
Defending democracy and liberty at the point of a rifle,
Where upon my enthusiastic arrival my place had already been set,
Entrenched far from the front lines so as to avoid the true heat of battle,
Avoiding the burden of the iron skin worn by battle-hardened vets,
It was here in the pits that our intentions were made clear,
That our mission was a farce, our patriotism unfounded,
Our noble rescue mission to protect the free world that I held so dear,
Devolved into another rat face for resources upon which global tensions compounded,
A war so aimless in nature and fruitless in results,
A war for the freedom to choose death now or later,
A war never changing in purpose regardless of enemies killed or allies consulted,
A war that buried civilization inside a nuclear crater,
Emerging from my cryogenic time capsule, the sole remnant of American spirit,
I gaze upon my broken world and wonder, "was it all worth it?"

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