Pets in debt.

Haggard and raggy,
unwashed with hair shaggy,
no concept of status,
or concern how they rate us,
pulling veggies that yield,
from deserted battlefields,
grown fat on the bones
of the mortared,
that groaned,
and floundered in mud,
bespattered and loved,
on a diet of blood,
and gore,
that they wore,
as they fought on behalf
of the united whore,
tooth and claw.
So,
we work when we're able,
we sit
and watch cable,
McDonald's fucking happy meal,
because we need telling how we feel,
unlike some,
brought to heel,
liberated bells that peal,
to celebrate conceit,
paid with young men's marching feet,
and memory that tapers,
but immortalized by the Sunday papers.