I’ve had wet feet since we hit the beach
Eight days ago
I’m sitting in a dirt hole, cold; it’s getting dark
And I can move back and try and sleep on the ground
When the night gets black
I have seven kills
Must think of them as Germans and not other men
I’m trying not to think of home
It seems like a long time ago I was playing football
In high school
But, it was just six weeks ago
I had never shot a gun before
Now I have seven kills
I hear my mom’s voice once in a while
But only her tone and not her words anymore
It was either me or them
The fire fight seemed to go in slow motion and
Last forever
I scan the field with my glasses
There must have been wheat here before...
It’s only a memory now
My feet are cold, but at least I made it inland
I’m only up from the beach somewhere in Italy
I remember reading about the Romans
And that’s all I know of Italy
Except that the Germans came and killed Italians
And now we must kill the Germans
I have killed seven of them, and they killed a bunch of us on
The beach
5 comments:
Hi Harry:
I love how you use stream of consciousness to tell this story - nice work!
Yes, a good reminder that most soldiers are just boys fresh from high school.
You've almost convinced me you were there. Very good.
Excellent imagery, Harry! You pull us back and forth from reality; most likely exactly what they experienced.
The wet socks... how hard it is to function when one has cold, wet feet, and they did it.
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