surplus 

i go with my brother to try on helmets
at the flea market. there are several stalls
dedicated just to army supplies & flipped upside down
the helmet look like they could easily be used
as bowls to fill with fruit-- even fake fruit. 
there are emblems i don't recognize & he lists 
the different associations & the wars & the regiments.
i pick one up & they're heavy & metal. i knock 
on the top as if it were a skull. a metal skull.
god give me a metal skull. we fill the helmets 
with our own fruit. my head is a peach & 
my brother's is a pear. we both bruise 
but my brother is sickly sweet & leaking 
on the concrete floor. the table nearby is 
covered with medals. he shifts through them
while i stand up straight wearing my helmet.
i want to buy the helmet & take it home--
learn more about what it might mean for 
my head to be inside it. i ask my brother
if these were used in battle & he says 
they're mostly surplus. leftovers.
there are still leftovers here from vietnam 
& world war two & even world war one--
which is what my brother searches for. 
there are no dead soldier's ghosts. these are
the soldiers still waiting happen, laying dormant 
inside protective gear, listening for 
another call. more boys come & try on helmets.
one boy knocks on the other boy's head.
my brother picks out medals for us 
& pokes two into his skin, the pear
juice dripping & sweet. i ask him
why he's doing that & he says we needs
to pin himself down in time. it's easy to feel
unmarred in the flea market. a stall over
they're selling the pelts of hunted animals.
two stalls over in a circus of vinyl records.
at the far end of the market there's a room
full of sequin dresses. i want to wear 
a sequin dress with my helmet. preferably teal 
or another color too loud to be real.
i don't tell my brother this. it's the kind of desire
you should swallow. he presses medals 
into my skin too. we are seeping syrup.
we are sweet boys. we are going to war one day
in not that long in a small town where the sun
is just rind & no flesh. helmet full of grapes.
helmet full of apples. helmet full of
juice/ blood. there are empty grenades for sale.
just test ones. incapable of destruction.
soft as hand fruit. we grasp them tight
just to fill our helmets with them.