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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 15:28:29 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 130366
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Over There
[time] => 2007-01-10 19:53:12
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => I sit at the bar – staring blankly at the fuzzy transmission of the television with all the boys from the old neighborhood – boys that transformed into men when I wasn’t looking. Men with jobs and wives and beat up old trucks used for working that job on the west side and for lugging around the pee-wee football team’s equipment. I listen to them talk of all the friends and sons and brothers and mechanics and butchers they know over there – faces stripped from the community. I’m silent besides my sympathetic nods, for I only know of eighteen year old boys who are plagued with the choice of which university which car I have been so disconnected from this whole thing – their loss, their pride, their pleas to return their friends, their sons, their brothers back from overseas. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 160 [topic] => 57 [informant] => just_smile_all_the_time [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => war )
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