Memoir Poem, Poetry

Desert Storm at Eleven (poem)

2243636-3239456630_c064f895b6In the back bedroom at the little
fold down desk eating my snack
of a Ding Dong and room temperature
Diet Cherry Pepsi
annoyed at the immovable maps and
call-in bomb-dodging journalists
soaking up the screen where my
Beverly Hills Teens and She-Ra should be.
Especially She-Ra.

She
more than the bomb-dodging journalists
was type for the writer
I wanted to be one day.

-M.