Before I actually studied writing, I didn’t have an appreciation for poetry and I certainly would never have considered myself a writer, but because of the tutelage and patience of professors such as Ed Perlman, I slowly started to put some lines together. Poetry, though not for everyone, is for me the hardest thing to write and requires an understanding of words and how to employ them that you don’t really need when writing prose.

One of my favorite paintings is “The Bunker” by Victor Juhasz. Victor has captured the boredom and self-reflection soldiers endure when deployed, and that painting inspired me to write this poem. I have been reading Book of Matches Literary Journal for several years now, so I was very proud when they decided to print my poem in Issue 6, published in September 2022. Now, I guess I’m a poet after all.

The Bunker

A homemade wooden bench
Rests opposite a broken office chair.
Two young men sit,
Sheltered in this concrete hole,
Shielded from the Mesopotamian sky and its
Steel rain.

Hidden from the ordered chaos
And the chaotic orders, they rest.
Both lean forward, shoulders hunched against this unforgiving place.
Cigarettes rest easily between their fingers, pistols on their hips.
Camouflage uniforms contrast with grey shingle and concrete,
Concealing nothing.

Their thoughts and smoke hang quietly in the air,
As they stare at the ground,
Here in this low-tech, lowest-bidder respite.
Comfortable with the silence and each other’s
Company, they see no need for
Conversation.

The constant threat of random, unexpected death,
The cumulative exhaustion of endless eighteen-hour days
Weighs on them.
Introspective, one ruminates,
“I should’ve gone to college.”
“I know, right?”