Where's the rest of Third Platoon, I asked
The boys who came up to me,
"Dead, Captain", said the Lieutenant, "All gone",
I'd better get back to the letters I've been writing,
I think, wondering what is worse,
Dying, or having to keep a tally of all the boys
Who die, hideously in the helicopters,
On fields and in Humvees.

I need rescuing

Cowardice is tempting, shoot myself in the foot,
Go home to a limp, a wounded leg and a blackened memory,
What is left of honour, except threads of our flag,
Blanketing my men in coffins that reach unannounced,
In civilian lines.

I wish I could say something about the deceased,
The martyred, as the Colonel likes to
call them,
The Heroes are those who come back afraid of noises,
Loud speakers, and lightning,
Because it reminds them of Patrol Duty.

I'm still here, at the front lines,
Wondering if I can call it a day,
My gun is cradled in my arms,
Like a woman, (but I've lost her too).