of combat, of factories, of a ghetto
of watching friends die
of learning the buck of a .38
or their fathers watching
dreams wither
I would feel silly
telling them of the rush
solving the problems of a computer
learning how planets
were not at all as we expected
or learning how little the world cares
about anyone who works
here my stories have no relevance
while theirs resonate in me
like childhood stories of Rob Roy
Arthur and Guinevere
or Roland dying in Roncesvalles
except these men's stories are of pains
without glories
hurts countered by laughter
defying gods who never speak to us
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