I remember sitting outside
the steel-tracks,
hidden under the nets.
Stars would peek through
the fluttering radar-resistant leaves
& an occasional warthog
would do a flyby.
We'd smoke (not literally) & joke,
tell funny stories to keep our morale high.
Every now and then,
we'd talk about a dead comrade
or a lost sweetheart.
I never let them boys see me cry,
but I did,
usually in the bent arm
of my ACU's.
Sometimes my armor would catch a drop.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
I remember sitting outside
the steel-tracks,
hidden under the nets.
Stars would peek through
the fluttering radar-resistant leaves
& an occasional warthog
would do a flyby.
We'd smoke (not literally) & joke,
tell funny stories to keep our morale high.
Every now and then,
we'd talk about a dead comrade
or a lost sweetheart.
I never let them boys see me cry,
but I did,
usually in the bent arm
of my ACU's.
Sometimes my armor would catch a drop.
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