John woke to the sound of the bombs
because it's a wake up call
no matter the alarm.

As the shrapnel pierced his heart
he got out of bed.
Where he was caught high, proud
no surprise.

Routine is routine
and John died many times
as many as his frail body would allow
and many that it wouldn't.

His record, in the high forties
is his goal to beat for tomorrow.
Because a man needs goals
or he'll get terribly bored.

Boredom is not the death for John.
Death should be enjoyed
like a high noon.

Death arrives
as John slips off his flak jacket
sipping his whisky
watching the ice melt.

A smile on his face
as the clock counts down
and John plants a final bomb
as an alarm for me.

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