"There they are!"
"One o'clock, two hundred meters, three enemy troops, engaging with small arms fire!"
"Walk the gun in on their position."
Red puffs of mist,
A tryst with innocence abandoned.
to wage a war on those who wager decades of wasted love.
Time spent twiddling trinkets at the bazaar, from afar,
while the women do the work.
If I think it, then I know what I saw on that patrol.
Men, swindling fate with an exhausted tale of control.
The toll it takes on those kids, rids them of hope and what do I see and hear:
"Mista mista MRE! Please buy some cigarettes from me!"
To feed my family, because my dad has no decency, no democracy or economy.
He's busy, plotting his next big hit on the military.
And when we're gone how does the hate flow? Does it leave when we go?
What the hell do I know.
I was just a Joe, overseas to drive my Jane insane.
My brother and family back home couldn't sleep
because they couldn't sell a weep for a week—they grew weak.
That's the type of hell I knew.
The same grain of sand sat in the same corner of my eye, every night.
I watched the news and cried,
because over there my brother and sister tried and by complacency
or indecency, they died.
Or if they couldn't bear the weight of the enemies hate production,
They go home and grab a rope,
because we sometimes can't cope with the transition.
We lose sight of our mission.
This government can't hold up a fort they built,
The soldiers get covered in the filth from both sides.
And yet the terrorists still hide, form and plan.
Even if we find them, anger still resides,
Deep within—exploding sin.
I remember now.
The hatch dropped.
The sweltering heat of camouflaged sardines,
Canned and clambering outward dismounted.
The cool December air flew in along with the moon dust,
My knees tight from ring rust and the monkey on my back.
We responded to the attack, I threw down my pack.
When we laid down all you could hear was the crack and pop of our weapons in succession.
That is when I made the call.
I lined everything, even the doubts I discarded, my cheek fell so diligently against the pad I rigged.
My trigger squeeze was surprising and my muzzle was rising.
They were dead, and through them I found the dread of victory.
The gun chucked metal meters down range.
I knew what we lost on that stage.
Skewed, I know.
But it doesn't change that I killed my innocence for you.