An exchange of bodily fluid unintended.
Overturning all contents of my sleep-starved mind,
Thumbing the edge of two Trojan wrappers,
The legs of another intertwined.

The tannins of my life uncasked and poured.
In the opening the cork has gone, and I wonder,
Though the toast was a minor treat,
Will the aftertaste be of rancid vinegar?

Consider this position, so primitively appointed,
A father is a soldier not.
Those measuring valor prefer easy cases.
I profer, "Death By Protracted Consumption (Nosefulls of Snot)".

Punishment for desertion, however, is just as grim!
The platitudes and cliches
May lack the ring of nationalism,
But you'll be shunned by all if you aren't bound by them.

The wrapper reads 70% effective,
And suddenly I understand!
It means in ten games of Trojan Roulette,
Three will make simple gore out of a man.

And here again, to my surprise,
I find I've leveled my gun.
If only the stochastic spending of my potential,
Weren't so fucking fun.