Thoughts of you come and linger
As I picture you in a diseased swamp with a gun in your hands,
Dirt and grizzle on your face, a helmet on your head, and
death on your mind.
I wretch inside when radios blast news of American deaths,
And newspaper headlines announce that peace is years away.
I turn my thoughts to warm summer evenings,
Long walks and trees and beaches and wonderful times.
Then I remember how you had yelled that you’d get a few of those bastards
before they got you
And I wonder if things will ever be the same again.
DEAR BARBARA ANNE
Writing on my helmet, the only surface I have
Chiggers embedded ‘round my sock tops and belt itch like hell
Wet socks for 3 weeks
Feet rot and smell like old cheese
At night VC rattles serpentine to scare
Marines don’t scare
Marines get even
Some in my platoon rape women bent over in rice paddies
Don’t trust children or women, definitely not men
Kool-Aid helps the taste of fetid water
Send me some?
My helmet clipped by a bullet
Jingle bells, Santa smells
VC in the grass
Take your jolly Christmas tree and shove it up…
I finally got one before he got me
Thank God for my bayonet
Missing you, counting the days
When I return to normal life.
Barbara Sears - March 12, 2013