POSTCARDS
I've had the good fortune to be briefed,
and then debriefed as well, (in the Army,
that was the fun term for having your
pants torn off, a sort of first-deployment
to the jungle initiation). A laugh a minute,
those jerks. It was a steamy day too, and
the perimeters of those jungle fields,
though dense and overgrown, were
watched carefully for Cong. Didn't
want to get caught with your pants
down; know what I mean?
-
The commanding officer, a curly guy
whose tag read Ogentray, I never liked,
but once I got there he was done in about
a month - split nearly in half in a mortar
attack. It was the worst feeling in the
world - even now - knowing that.
-
As it turned out, one could never really
be too careful, and if you were, the ones
who were - the mama's boys, the letter-
writers, the geeks and the crybabies too -
they always seemed to get it in the end
as well, from being overly-cautious, too
nervous about life itself. Poof! And then
for them, that quick, it was gone.
Goes to show.
-
'Shell-shock is a state of mind.' That's
what I always wrote on my mail-call
postcards home. 'Dear Mom and Dad,
wish you were here....'
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