Lean and strong and
Sinew-taut bone.
Marched a hundred miles
Shot a thousand rounds.
Humped a ruck from
Forest green to desert tan.
Sharp as a tack
.
And it still feels that way;
A little less hair but a
Little more gut,
Tellin’ stories ’bout
“When I was…” and “Back
When we used to…”
E-mails replacing radio calls
.
Rusty.
Still wield that carbine
Weekends at the range but
It isn’t like it used to be; knees
Buckle a little easier, eyes
Strain to see farther but
In your mind you’re still hot-shit.
.
Watching videos online of
How they do it in Afghanistan
And imagine you too could
Climb those mountains taking
Fire all the while; Getting
Winded climbing four
Flights of stairs at the office now.
.
Rusty.
.
Rode a hatch in that Stryker
But riding the chair of a desk these days:
Sad state of life to be the warrior
You once were but still are –
Just only in your mind.
This is some awesome work man!
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Thanks – I appreciate your taking the time to read it.
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Reblogged this on The Word on the Street Corner and commented:
I really like this poem.
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