By Jarek Jarvis
Like little enclosed Americas, U.S.
military installations dot Germany.
Some feature sports cars, houses, lawns, bowling
alleys, McDonald’s like towns abducted
from the heartland and airlifted in.
Picture alien killers cooped up with guns
in a box down the road from your house.
The other Americans, I notice,
waiting to fly back to the Empire,
are soldiers. Harried by travel, I don’t
examine the implications. I must earn
my citizenship anew, so I fly back
across the Atlantic in business class.
Jarek Jarvis is an emerging Hoosier poet, and current MFA candidate at Western Kentucky University. His poems have appeared in Washington Square Review, Corvus Review, and Ignatian Literary Magazine with poems forthcoming in Caustic Frolic and Wyldcraft Literary Journal.
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