Coming Home

I left my combat boots with the thick lining
In the country where it snows. Here
It is all palm trees and sunshine.
Here we have suntanned bodies lying
On clean, golden sands. There we had naked bodies piled in heaps with with
Grey skin taut against all of those
Bones. It was their genocide.
We were just there to train them.
The martial arts of self-defense
Require much discipline and commitment.
A gas mask would keep away the lethal
Hidden
Invisible monster saying, "Ahhh!"
We would still smell the dead, some kind of moldy, water left out.
Here we smell the suntan lotion.
I'm better now. I just saw the graves in
Pictures from Intel where our spooks
Told pretty bad jokes over stale coffee.
It wasn't that bad. It wasn't anyone I knew.
Glad to be home.
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