by Kim Doyle
After basic and advanced we shipped
out West to the eternal sand.
Some were slack and some tight lipped,
“Let’s Get Some,” in Afghanistan.
Deserts feel like my forever home,
sand fleas and cool water not bought cheap.
The winds blow cold from the Karakorum,
landing at Red X-Ray was one short leap.
Do those gooney birds really fly -
our helmets tucked under our precious butts.
Counter rotating, I thought we’d all die,
chopper travel is for bravo nuts.
Enemies everywhere on a marathon run,
oh where have you gone my blue-eyed son.
Kim Doyle writes Op/Ed poetry and articles for The Brunswick Citizen in Brunswick, Maryland.
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