Curt Bennett, 'On The Hump'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

On The Hump

The men slowly move
With the least exertion.
Adjusting the heavy packs,
They slip through the brush
The easiest way they can
Conserving all the energy possible.

Weary young legs
That last year ran footballs,
Jumped basketballs,
And dashed cinder tracks
Before the cheering crowds
Now strain with each step,
Every muscle aching in protest.

Straps chafe raw shoulders,
Boots carry the lead mud
As heat sucks
The sweat from bodies
Until there is no more,
Only white-salt-stain-rings
Remain to glaze the dirty green shirts.

The exhausted men
Cannot contemplate
Political ideologies
Or questions of morality
Nor do they give a shit
About freedom and democracy,
Communism or any other crap!

They can only think
One step at a time,
One second of the time,
That is all.
Timeless drudgery, endless pressure,
Confusion, misery and apprehension
The feel and smell of war.

If he gets through today,
He is one step closer to "wake-up"
If he doesn't, who gives a damn?
It does not matter,
Why worry, why care"
Nobody else does,
And on they plod.

by Curt Bennett