Here's another military poem I wrote.
Hot Tin Roof
“I've got the guts to die. What I want to know is, have you got the guts to live?”
From tin huts just under twice the
Size of a 19th century outhouse,
Abdali peasants rise with the sun.
Skylights are rusted into the roofs of
Their beach homes; oven vents for 145-
Degree-days. Sheep companion those
Fortunate enough to keep one alive.
Earning less than pocket change by
Kuwaiti standards, they work like
Mexican day laborers in America
Farming coffin sized plots to sustain
Their families. They see no prophet
In oil. Kuwaiti citizens make up the jobless
Wealthy impersonating Persian emperors and
Empresses; while Tectovs stranded
Beyond a civilization they’re refused,
Bombard us with outstretched
Arms as we convoy across the dunes.
M.R.E? Cold water?
Their gaunt faces, and tattered clothes
Remind us of why we are there.
We surrender the supplies we can spare.