Southern California Made Us Promises

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Southern California made us promises
That no one could possibly make
The beach & the beauty
All revealed to be restlessly fake
But I know of a callow truth
Of heritage & the shore of Bodega Bay
Of family & the love we can’t forget
Perhaps I’ll make it back some sunny day

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Thousand Yard Stare

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It was dark out on the flight deck. The stars and moon not visable tonight. The hum of the Diesel engines mixed with the lapping of the waves. The rest of the guys were inside playing cards. He was sitting on a bullnose, where the mooring lines enter the ship.

He was dirty. The overall grime of shipboard life had taken its toll on his uniform, exposed flesh and general psyche. At this point of the deployment, his blue ‘digital’ camouflage pants were were out of regulations. They had rips, paint splatter and grease stains. No one gave him flack about it. There was no time to focus on those aspects or the means to replace uniforms. It was not important at this point. There was a mission at hand. The priorities were to do your job correctly the first time. Crisp new uniforms would not help you succeed out here. There is a feeling among sailors that those who had time to polish their boots did not have a real job. Admin types and supply personnel usually were the ones with nice looking boots.
“Smitty, you okay man?”
“I’m cool”
“You got that 1,000 yard stare going.”
“Naw, I’m just thinking. I’m fucking tired man”
“Me too.”
“I just want to go home. This shit sucks.”
“I know, I don’t even want to get off the boat in port.”
“Right? Let’s just go back, cut all this short.”
“Wish we could, man. You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. I’m cool. I’m gonna go to bed soon.”
“All right man, don’t be grabbing chains and jumping off the side.” They both smiled. “We’re laughing, but seriously. It’s not that bad. We’ll be home soon enough.”
“I know, thanks man.”
They went their separate ways. Smitty returned his gaze back out on the water.
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Don’t Tell Me About Sacrifice

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Don’t tell me about sacrifice
I don’t need your hypocritical words
A notion merely secondhand
A duty you constantly deferred
With my family soundly asleep
I’ll carry my seabag back to the dock
Taking with me their prayers
Never survive without them – my rock

This Blue Collar Typewriter

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This blue collar typewriter
So many hours down at Ford
Working to support the family
Under the watchful eye of the Lord
Staying together, hand in hand
There were many times that were rough
No fairytale existence here
But love & devotion were always enough

Speeding Down Residential Streets

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Speeding down residential streets
I see you’re impressed with your shiny car
Wanting all the Desperate Housewives to see
Money to spend; you think you’re a superstar
Not paying attention to what’s around
You’re late for life; just passing through
DOUCHE! Listen to me so very carefully
If you hurt my family, I will slowly defile you

Don’t Tell Me Stories Of The Righteous

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Don’t tell me stories of the righteous
I don’t want to hear of infatuated glories
My hope dwindles & my cynicism rebounds
Whenever your lips utter their sponsored stories
I’ll let you rule the ruins of dilapidated society
Your politicians ran amok, forcing common core math
I’ll retire into the wilderness to write my manifesto
Be forewarned; if you harm my loves, you’ll feel my wrath

You’re My Suzy Homemaker

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You’re my Suzy Homemaker
Always baking delicious things
Caring for the family’s every need
But I’ll tie you up with those apron strings
You need to be reminded of my desire
That you’re a woman, first & foremost
Tonight you’ll be pampered & cherished
You’ll come to know pleasure & I’ll be your host

They See Everything

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They see everything
Their perceptive little minds
Soaking up the universe
Chewing life down to the rind
Laughing with unfettered glee
Constant revolutions of the brain
Don’t ruin their perfection
The purity before any of the pain