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.