Bill Glose


by Bill Glose

Ask any private pouring diesel
into a barrel of human waste,

lighting it afire, mixing with
a wooden paddle, standing

in the black smoke, he’ll tell you:
Shit flows downhill. All one-stripes

on latrine duty know the motto:
Rank has its privileges. Nothing to do

but bitch to pals who are also
stuck in the muck. Unless you have

too many stripes, too much brass. Then
wants and grievances get shoved

in a cargo pocket, beneath maps and
Op-Orders, beneath everything olive drab.

Solitude is the true gift of rank. Voices
muffled behind camouflage.

Bill GloseBill Glose is a former paratrooper, a Gulf War veteran, and author of the poetry collection, The Human Touch (San Francisco Bay Press, 2007). In 2011, he was named the Daily Press Poet Laureate. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in such journals and magazines as Narrative Magazine, New York Quarterly, and Poet Lore.

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