The Marksman Poem by Robert Edgar Burns

I peek around the corner, then quickly back away.
For me now to be spotted would ruin both night and day.
It started many hours ago, well before the rising sun.
I blend into the foilage should the target try to run.

I cannot let my guard down, it's too dangerous to blink.
But I can't get so focused that I forget to think.
I'm under grassy cover, my face painted green and black.
I hear the breaking of a twig, somewhere behind my back.

A guard dog passes by me. My scent by napalm masked.
I had no choice to be here. I wasn't even asked.
Left to my own devices, I know I’d choose to run.
But pride keeps me pinned there, I’m doing it for my son!

The target exits the shelter, I know he’ll never return.
I hold my breath and stiffen, every muscle starts to burn.
My sight line unobstructed. I could take out either eye.
But I lay a bead straight for his throat so no one hears a cry.

The darkness is my special friend as I jump to my feet and run.
The minutes seem like hours while I wait for the rising sun.
The rotors in the distance are a symphony of sound.
One will give me cover, as the other one touches ground.

As I jump into that chopper, a pain now grips my leg.
The teeth of that German Shepherd, left the scars I bear today.
Tomorrow I will wake up, in a place that's far away.
For in the type of work I'm in, orders change most every day!