New Blood - Old Sand Poem by willow moon pearce

I feel almost invincible
My flack jacket is heavy
But hidden with a silent promise.
My weapon is state of the art
With it, I am combat efficient
And ready.

It is hot and the strenght
Drains out of me.
I am wasted at 10 am
Uncomfortable, wet and miserable.
Look at me! G.I. Joe at 22.

With home made explosive devices
The enemy take a heavy toll.
This morning two tarpaulin covered dead
Are brought in, the plastic is shapeless
And bloody.

The smell of roadkill back home
Waftes in the air.
Reinforced by a feeling of
Pity and horror,
To my everlasting sorrow.
I think about the ice-cold Coke
In the cooler, and walk towards it.