liza

They climbed onto rockets and launched
themselves into the blue because they were
young and patriotic and because it was heroic,
and because Liza, the waitress everyone lusted after
at the Blue Oyster, the waitress everyone was trying
to save from the Blue Oyster,
thought they were sexy and brilliant, even while she went home,
every night to a UPS driver, who wore brown
shorts and high brown socks and knocked her around a bit, and fucked his brains
out – or so they thought.
And that’s why they did it – for her and for women like
her, and the chickens didn’t really come home
to roost until what was left of Wally that cool,
autumn day in Kansas was shoveled into
a body bag, fire-proof flight suit intact with
his ashes and wedding ring. But even then, a few pops and
everyone was good to go, again, “Shit hot,”
again. That’s the way it was. That’s the way
it always was. And, by the way, Liza wasn't worth
dying for, they figured out. Some,
too
late.