|
Post by Ivan Carswell on Mar 6, 2008 19:02:22 GMT -5
I look around to empty spaces, vacant places; my memories still cling to voices gone with faces indistinct. Just a teen in
olive green, an SLR, a bandolier and two grenades. My jungle hat saw better days. I recall the crushing heat, the aching feet
and battle sound we learned to fear or laugh about – the only sounds that mattered were the pungent cracks of rifle rounds
impacting in our space – the cry “incoming” and a race to cover or a safer place. I wasn’t brave, I peed my pants, stank
just like the rest indeed – but now they’re gone. The fear remains and in the night the voices claim my ears.
I sleep because I take the pills that ease the pain – replacing mates whose names I might recall before I fall asleep. © 20 December 2007, I. D. Carswell
|
|