... when the perimeter is on 100% alert,
and you just have to stay awake,
because Charlie's gonna be on your ass
for the next three days...
- you can sleep later.
... when they drop off a second .50 cal. mg
and a couple spare barrels and a new hot glove to your position,
plus more ammo than you've ever seen in one place before,
as well as two more M79s and all the grenades you'll need for two weeks,
and a backup M60 and two dozen cans of ammo,
and an extra body to help,
as well as a bunch of full canteens...
then you have an idea that you are in for a ride.
... and then, when the medics come by and toss you two or three large
(500 pills each) bottles of 10mg dexedrine per bunker,
then you really know that it's gonna be a long time before you can relax.
(We were supposed to turn in what we didn't use or lose,
once it was all over -- yeah, right!)
Start taking the pills now, and set your shit up,
and take some more pills...
... yeah... those were the days!!
Comments on this poem/writing:
|shiloh (184.108.40.206) -- Friday, June 20 2008, 03:08 pm|
It's a wonder we didn't kill ourselves with the stuff they furnished... and they wondered why so many guys came back hooked on different things... but our government, our army, would never do anything, or give us anything that would harm us... we could trust our government, right? Sure we could... just like the Indians could in the 1800s...
Click here to read other Poems by Shiloh
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