War Story #56: A Long Day

It was a day like any long day,
flying into Iraq.
My sleep skittish, I slumped

on the terminal floor,
body armor shucked, an ecto-skin.
Aboard the plane wearing armor

and helmet, with weapon, laptop
and assault pack on my lap.
My hands and feet rebelled.

When we landed I could barely stand.
At the tent in Baghdad
the cot

forgave my weight. I closed my eyes
finally, to the day. Yet moored
by the thick ropes of my life

which slackened, tightened conversely
as I slept.


War Story #54: Fruit Stand

It must have seemed funny to the Iraqis.
A convoy hit an IED, a small one -
no one hurt, no damage.
The commander who literally pissed himself,
hopped out and tottered
to the stand with his terp to ask