Poem Hunter
Desert Muses.
WMP (October 1951 / London, UK)

Desert Muses.

Poem By willow moon pearce

God, I am hot and sticky and thirsty.
Gatorade and Coke slosh in my stomach
Not keeping my thirst at bay.
My new uniform is wet and uncomfortable
Causing heat rash and a feeling of dirt.

I adjust my Ray Bans and try to feel like a seasoned warrior
I'm not though
Just a seasoned kid way out of his league
With a wife and mortgage and an out of date car I am still paying for.

I read my letters time and time again
It feels so bizarre from home to here
I am lonely and do not seek out my friends
With their false bonhomie
Scared as I am.

Her words upset me as I think of time wasted without her and the kids
The hurt almost physical.
I want to go home.
On a plane - not in an aluminium casket.
This is a place of mind numbing boredom
And sudden bursts of activity.

I look at the blue sky and blinding sand and rock
And think of a person I got to know for a short while.
Blasted into pieces with a home made enemy mine
Picked up in a poncho with his broken glasses found
Three hundred feet away.

He did not know what killed him, or why.
We think of him and its the first time I have seen seasoned soldiers cry.
And wonder at their own mortality.

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Comments (1)

War human kind's greatest evil deed.