Nancy L. Meek
Yes, I am afraid of what they’d do
If they had to face the same as you.
They’d mess it up… I’m sure of that
For they don’t have a clue… in fact
They don’t know nothin’ about them wars
Don’t have a clue about true horrors.
They’d try to use their radio
To order a pizza made “to go”.
They’d never learn to open cans
Would starve to death from sorry plans.
They’d never see a morning sun
‘Cause sleeping-in is much more fun.
Heck, few would from those choppers leap…
They’d sit there whining, “The mud’s too deep!
My dad’s got money… Don’t make me go!
I’ll mess my clothes up, don’t you know?!”
Or they’d just sit there feigning sick
While thinking of some other trick.
And those who did jump won’t run fast
With pants worn down around their a… uh… rear.
They’d never dig a single trench
Or learn to make-do in a pinch.
The enemy would shoot them dead
Calling cards stuck inside each head.
Yes, they’d pick them off like sitting ducks
Their weapons loaded onto stolen trucks
Laughing and grinning all the way home
While the clueless rot in the bloody loam.
Who would come get them? Would anyone care?
No body bags… They wouldn’t prepare.
Nevertheless, they’d have to make-do.
What would they use… the choices so few?
If they hadn’t been clueless, they would have known
Empty suitcases will bring the boys home.
©Copyright August 21, 2001 by Nancy L. Meek