I'm lying in the mud, water mixing with my blood,
Perhaps I'm riding in a track or in a Jeep.
I'm cozy, safe and warm, far removed from any harm,
Except when I am too afraid to sleep.

I begin before it's light, and continue into night,
Whether slick-sleeve or with stars upon my shoulder.
I'm a boozer and a fighter, or a lover and a writer,
Puttin' in my time and slowly growing older.

Hair that's not been cut away, was brown but's getting gray,
My pocket's empty almost all the time.
My uniforms have creases that can cut a man to pieces,
I use words no dictionary dares define.

I eat MRE's instead of caviar, and often drive my buddy's car,
Because my wreck won't pass this year's inspection.
I can cross the desert sand, or any piece of land,
With just here and there some minor misdirection.

I'm paid nowhere near enough, to put up with all this stuff,
And the CO says I don't get paid for thinking.
Top's pushed me to the end, and then on around the bend,
Too proud to cry, I settle down to drinking.

I can't afford a spouse, but I have one...and a house,
Who would think that such a gal could love a soldier?
I can't tell her, or you, why I live the way I do,
With the pages of my life filed in a folder.

I gripe, but call me I'll come running, or marching to the drumming,
If you need my life, I guess that's what I'll give.
Like other soldiers gone to war, who paid the price before,
The price placed on the life we live.

I can't say that I'll be brave, when the flags begin to wave,
Tattered, ripped, and torn by deadly fire.
I can only say that I, hope to give it my best try,
If I claimed any more I'd be a liar.

I'm a soldier dressed in green, often looked at, seldom seen,
Please spare a moment now to see me well.
For there might come a day, when I'll be called away,
To spend a tour in someplace close to Hell.

And, I might just not come back, when I carry off my pack,
To an unknown place somewhere around the earth.
So, stop and give a smile, that I can take with me a while,
Cause money cannot measure what I'm worth.

29 March 1982 by Donovan Baldwin

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Donovan Baldwin, was born in 1945, in Atlanta, Georgia. He was raised in Pensacola, Florida, where he attended St. John's Catholic Elementary School, Pensacola Catholic High, Pensacola Junior College (Now Pensacola State College), and the University of West Florida (BA Accounting 1973). He served 21 years in U.S. military services, retiring honorably in 1995. In addition to his military service, he has been a program accountant and fiscal consultant for the Florida State Department of Education, the business manager of a community mental health facility in Milton, Florida, an instructor for a major corporation in the logistics industry, and an optical lab manager, among other position. He has been writing and publishing poetry, essays, and articles, for over half a century and has had several poems published in small, literary magazines.