Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘My Buddy, PTSD’ and other poems

By: Dan Flore III


the good ol’ PTSD flashback came
like a piece of shattered ice
I was getting changed
getting everything out of my pockets
when suddenly I was standing
in front of that
stupid hospital security guard
who stood like Hercules
with a chirping
drive you more insane than
you already are
walkie talkie
yelling at me to
empty my pockets
goddamn hospital memories
they can come out anytime
especially when I’m not
expecting them
even when I’m just
changing my pants


our waitress was Marianne
it wasn’t really Marianne
but she was enough like her
that it was her

she came when it was twilight
and we were eating outside

I spoke to her in silence-

I loved you as deep as the flood that washed us away

why have you come to haunt me tonight?

what are you doing here at my wife’s birthday?
what are we to give each other
but our wings of separation?

you are gone
and posing
in the polite
of a waitress?

after all you meant to me?

and I to you?

what kind of hell is this?

I wanna write a nice poem

something about birds
feeding the ducks on thanksgiving
so they could have a feast too

the v formation of Canadian geese in flight
maybe a cardinals eye looking at me

birds are so __ ( you fill in the blank)
I’d rather hear from you than me
you are so mysterious
like a blackbird in the shadows

anyway I’m sick of me
I wanted to write something nice
cause I’ve felt so dirty
filthy really

look out there over the water
see the gulls taking a dive into the water

I wanna see you blush from love
like a robin’s red breast
(even though it’s really orange)

ah what did it do to us
this unrelenting earth
it’s as if we’re both not even dying
or being alive as red ribbons
or an olive branch in a dove’s mouth

and if you’re screaming at me in hatred
can we just remember that we were both kids once
and I don’t know I can’t keep from crying
I don’t even know you

my fingers are out of breath from typing

this is all written in notes
musical notes
love notes
a grocery list

I just want to be me
and I want you to be you
a birdsong in the drowsy afternoon
that we’ll both forget
but was so nice when it happened

like a little boy in his Phillies hat
skipping stones when the giant crane
lands and fills me with awe
I am so bland now
a cuckoo bird

be my clock
comes out so silly
and nice

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