I dreamt I took a bullet to the chest
And fell in a poppy field in Kandahar,
And poppy blood soaked through my Kevlar vest,
And with each final breath, I called out, "Sarge?"
No one responded. Nobody called my name.
And when I tried to use my GPS
Full-skirted poppy blooms leaned in to frame
A dream more powerful than opiates:
I dreamt that on a wall were posted pics
Of me and my fiancée smoking hash
In my backyard, back home. A thousand clicks
On "Like" and "Share" had caused a system crash,
And my fiancée scrolled by pixel light
But was not looking at her iPad's screen,
For its wet crystals gave her second sight—
A dream, wherein my dream became her dream—
And she could see the poppy field my chest
Muddied with blood, the dust of Kandahar,
And, already pinned to my Kevlar vest,
Blood-wet, a Purple Heart and Silver Star.
TODAY IN SLATE
Don’t Worry, Obama Isn’t Sending U.S. Troops to Fight ISIS
But the next president might.
The Extraordinary Amicus Brief That Attempts to Explain the Wu-Tang Clan to the Supreme Court Justices
Amazon Is Officially a Gadget Company. Here Are Its Six New Devices.
The Human Need to Find Connections in Everything
It’s the source of creativity and delusions. It can harm us more than it helps us.
How Much Should You Loathe NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell?
Here are the facts.
The Plight of the Pre-Legalization Marijuana Offender
What should happen to weed users and dealers busted before the stuff was legal?