Flip the Script


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He can’t wait ‘til Tuesday
His wheelchair moves
with much dis-ease
Eyes all aglow
begging but then mumbling
to make it stop
Why isn’t it Tuesday?
Didn’t they know
they wouldn’t last?
Bargaining for his life,
trying to cut a deal, 
he grows angry
His pain is worse than theirs
He served his country
better than the ghetto
he settled in
They didn’t deserve his patriotism
They didn’t deserve to deny him
Wasn’t his smile enough?
Conversations?
They made him talk to walls
but now, he can’t manage Hell
As the mud flows from his tank,
the air stifles of hate,
and shame
Why isn’t today Tuesday?
He will make sure they don’t forget
If he makes it,
it will be the last time
he goes through this 
again

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