Formaldehyde on fatigues
green on this bald-headed league
— full of vigor, shorn like sheep —
that sweeps the dorm and soon sleeps.
Only to be awakened
by reveille earaching
the tortured troops to withstand
more demands: crazy commands.
Marching to classes in file,
tramping down the urge to smile,
but can’t check the teary dusk —
the eve brusque, full of male musk.
My pate scratches like boar hide.
Will this snowflake get outside
unmarred by rusty wing nuts
with jackboot strut and crew cuts ?
The chevrons flit on rooftop,
settle for the mission stop.
Whiskers are covered with rime—
wintertime: the snow sublime.
*[ WSB ].