Moth Balls are Toxic

Personal Poetry

Poetry  moth balls are toxic

Cheap cologne masks a fading military pea coat

that holds one thousand

and one deaths at Normandy,

and stale sweat

from one thousand

and one decisions

that remain shut in a dusty mahogany chest in the attic,

belonging to no One.



spider bites,

the hickeys of lonely men who can’t get enough

of that stinging mist they had one year

at sea.


Loose buttons stained with the illusion of

burnt blood, and moth balls

stuffed into pockets by a loving wife

who refuses to put the sick pup to sleep,

let alone ask her husband

what happened

when he went away to war.

Poetry  moth balls are toxic Poetry-_Moth_Balls_are_Toxic.jpg