Rear Echelon Combat Poem by Michael Pruchnicki
Rear Echelon Combat
Far from high velocity rounds zinging
overhead, rear echelon MFers type
up the morning reports and casualty
lists from Company A on a hot day.
They swat pesky flies and sweat
in air-conditioned pyramid tents
wearing starched BDUs and
shiny jump boots laced just so
No CBIs here! Crossed rifles
are just a far-fetched metaphor
for three hots and a cot
in a combat zone -
no purple hurts here!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 10:40:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
