sandy boots - killing time

it was a long day seventy-four hours to be exact
he wakes from a long deserved rest from patrol
the firefight took its toll as the team is not intact
with thoughts of home meandering to gain its control
rarely having time to reach out and make contact
to hear the words of his daughter's everyday extoll

reading a book donated from a place so sublime
his mind gratefully relaxes as does he tired body
for hours with nothing to do known as the killing time
forgetting for the moment the fallen disembody
the poetry he reads may only provide rhyme
it encompasses in order in a region so shoddy

he puts down the book to draw out paper and pen
writing to his precious little girl whom he cant live without
did she tend to flowers she planted in the garden
desperately hope to calm her nerves of endless doubt
daddy will come home there is no doubt beyond reason
that when his tour is over he'll pack up and be out

thinking about dinner and c-rations or a surprise from home
he hears his name from a distance and he turns to see
the junior comm officer running who need in his hair a comb
a call awaits him but he knows not from whom it could be
suddenly thoughts of boiled seafood, rocky shore and seafoam
he runs to the comm center like a wild child on a crime spree

yes its his dear baby who's grandmother placed the call
they share heartfelt greetings as he breaks down and cries
she sounds so big being so happy he stands proud and tall
she tells him how much she loves saying he has a surprise
if she tries hard she won't have to wait very long at all
he tells her he'll be home in 100 days just watch as time flies

when his fleeting time is up another stands anxiously waiting
walking back to his bunker he bumps into a buddy in a daze
his friend came back from patrol covered with shell plating
the horrified look was clear the pain in his eyes covered glaze
the sadness and despair this arid place is always creating
blood-stained foundation for an empty shell-shocked haze

shaking his head at the news the comrades walk to get a beer
his buddy sits down, orders a round and starts to shake
the end of the tour of his friend was so very near
raises his fist in the air and yells "someone give me a break"
into his glass the bartender pours a drink that is clear
into the night telling stories of him with the cheer they partake

he is dropped in his bed from a night of much excess
share by the teams brokenhearted the day's sad loss
the air settles down as the desert quiets down in digress
the enemy underground by fires eating bread with brown sauce
sleeping off another days boredom in the wasteland recess
he dreams of his little girl at church and praying under a cross

he wakes not so well rested and body full of pain
there's news of trouble along the mountainous borders
distant smoke from shelling mars the skyline like a stain
he gathers with the others while they are waiting for orders
he puts on sandy boots and readies to go on patrol again
in a fractured country of political and religious disorders