The First Thing You See Is The Dust,

People, Helicopters And Trucks

Runnin’, FlyinAnd Drivin,’

It Looks Like The Worlds’ Gone Mad.


An Old M-48, Nick-Named The Iron Bitch,

Sits Quietly And Cold At The Front Gate,

No One Needs Her, So No Really Sees Her,

The Iron Bitch Is Not Wanted Anymore.


A Shell Of What She Once Was,

You Wonder About What Happen To Her,

Was She Just Abandoned and Forgotten,

Or Did Victor Charlie Knock Her Out?


A Once Proud And Powerful Lady,

Now Just Another Casualty Of War.

What Of the Crew That Once Manned Her,

Are They Just As Cold and Forgotten?


Once In Camp Evans,

You Find Chaos Rules,

Everybody Going Somewhere,

But All Going Nowhere.


Dogs Like The People Runnin’ Amuck,

The Vietnamese Are Cleanin’ Up,

The Shit Detail Is Burnin’ Up,

And The Smell Makes You Want To Throw Up.


What Have I Gotten Myself Into,

A Mad House Choc Full Of Nuts,

There’s Airborne Over There,

And The LURP’s Over Here.


Sneaky Pete Is Hiding,

Out At Camp Carroll,

Grunts Are Here Smoking,

And The Medics Busy Sewing.


Ask One For Directions,

No One Knows Where,

There Is One Road In, One Out,

Good God, What Am I Doin’ Here?


Look Around And What Do You See,

19 Year Olds Walking, Carryin’ Guns,

19 Year Olds Bein’ Carried In Body Bags,

19 Year Olds With Death In Their Eyes.


Look Around Somemore,

Those 19 Year Olds are 50,

Old Way Beyond Their Years,

They Live The Years By Days.


The Helicopters Flyin’ In And Out,

Make A Sound You’ll Recall The Rest Of Your Life,

These Damn Silly Rotating Winged Machines,

For The Rest Of Your Life Come Into Your Dreams.


Slicks, Snakes And Loachs,

Buzzin’ All Round Your Head,

It’s Like Bein’ in A Bee Hive,

You Just Want To Cover Your Head.


Over There Are Slicks With Bullet Holes,

Close By are Some Covered In Blood,

All Look Tired And Old,

Just Like All Those 19 Year Olds.


The Men Who Fly In Them,

 Are Also By Age Mere Boys,

Death Is What Makes Them Old,

Do You Now Dare Call Them Boys?


Over Head Is The Sound Of Death,

Snakes Heading Out On Patrol,

Shark’s Teeth Painted For All To See,

I Am Glad They Ain’t Lookin’ For Me.


Over The Other Side Of Camp

You Hear The Boom

Out Bound Mail Is On It’s Way,

Everyone Hopes Charlie Catches It Today.


Hooches Of Tin And Wood,

Blast Walls of Barrels And Sand,

Men Sleeping, But Always Awake,

Worried Charlie May Visit Tonight.


Guns At Bunkside, Ready For Use.

Boots With Zippers Near Their Feet,

Oh God! Give Us A Good Nights Sleep,

Let Us All See The New Day Safe.


Dreams Of Better Times

Never Last Long These days,

Sleep Is Hard To Get,

 When The Rats Run Over Your Face.


Dreams Of Home And Firefights,

Overhead Goes The H&I For The Night,

Quiet Nights Are In The Past,

 These Times Are For Nightmares And Dying.


On The Bunker Line For The Night,

Four To Five Very Tired men,

One Watches While The Others,

Try To Rest Without Dying.



Gooks In The Wire,

All Hell Breaks Loose,

Only The Fucking Duty Officer, Or

 A Water Buffalo

Not The Gook You Thought You Saw.


Fu-Gas, Claymores And Other Toys of War

In The Hands Of Tired And Scared Men,

It Sure Wasn’t Like This In JW’s War,

The Pain And The Dying Here Is Real

After All, This Is My War.


John W. Devins

Started 1996

Finished? 5/August/2003