Waiting for the Vomit Comet
by Nathan A. Baker


I grew up in a southern town where
Every Friday and Saturday night was carnival
Especially the first weekend of
Each month when the local servicemen got paid;

To the smells of stale beer mixed with
Fragrances of cheap perfume and cigarettes
Hundreds of young men would pour off
Of buses to walk the stained streets in search of vices

That warred with their young spirits.
A war as real as any earthly enemy they trained against
At the nearby military bases, unseen
Forces that drew them to this dark place searching for

Every flavor of earthly temptation and
Some that I know now which were not of this world, but
Were just here for the ride, instigators
Of choice, dark spirits that seek to damn the human soul.

Unseen, these spirits gripped thousands of men
As they willingly yielded their bodies to the world's desires
Drowning in pleasures as confusion ripped hearts
Drawing life from each misunderstood cardboard soldier

Waiting at the corner of Hay and Hillsboro Streets
For the "Vomit Comet", Hell's bus ride back to reality.






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