It used to be
That little Sam's finger wasn't strong enough
To press the button on the spray can,
The time he built a birdhouse with his dad.
It used to be
That little Sam's eye would wander,
At every falling leaf
And passing car.
But now his grip is sure,
And now his gaze is steady
When he squints through rifle sights
With finger at the ready.
The boy you knew is gone now,
No chance he's coming back.
He's off to see the world now,
And play cops and robbers in Iraq.
2 comments:
The guy I know who came back from Iraq "doesn't really talk about it" and the one story he did tell me involves a helicopter blade cutting some guys leg off. May have already told this anecdote. Didn't sound like a fun time, or like anyone is really hardcore enough to mentally just brush off close encounters with death.
Pretty crazy.
I guess what I was trying to get across is that I can still only imagine all my childhood acquaintances who are now members of the armed forces as the way I remember them: children.
I think I gotta side with Kurt Vonnegut on this one.
Post a Comment