My good friends killed in Iraq in 2004 with my daughter and his two daughters.

My good friends killed in Iraq in 2004 with my daughter and his two daughters.


A Poem by Coyote Poetry


We can’t escape the bad or the good done in a life.

















My sister told me. “You  have changed.
She told me. “You saw too much shit and your mind and eyes are cold..

I told her,.
War isn’t personal.
You do what you are told. Try to forget and move on

 I kissed her forehead.
I told her. “War was easy.
This world falling apart around me.
I don’t know what to do.?
That the crazy shit I don’t understand.”

Up in the morning before five.
We don’t need no sunshine.
 Organization, discipline, three  square meals a day.
 Old SGT. say. “It will be all OK.

Young boss at work asked me too many questions.
 I told  him it is not for him to understand.

When you stand tall at attention. Salute a M-16, boots and helmet of a dead soldier.
You join a club.
The soldiers that lived must carry on with their buddies stories and memories.
Drink a beer on the day of their friend’s death. Can’t allow them to be forgotten.

Lying on cold ground.
 Waiting for a hidden enemies.
 You slapped your magazine to insure it is loaded right.
 You light up a cigarette and hope all things will be alright.

Going to Iraq with my gun.
Going to kill some Iraqi sons.

 Generals sent Division of soldiers.
Names don’t matter.
Reaching for more stars.

Mama and Papa sit by the phones.
Wife and family pray for the day their soldier come home safe and sound.

Soldiers talk about kids and woman.
Takes up most of our time.

No-one talks of dying.
 Ain’t no race or religion.
 Protect your friend back and he watched your back.

Soldier do right and wrong things.
A lucky man can walk away from  all the shit and forget.

The shadow of war find you one day.

 I stood with  a mother of my friend killed in Iraq.
  She  held me up.
 I saluted her son’s gravestone.

I go to the corner bar with other Veterans.
Drink to friends not here and missed.

Maybe baby sister is right.
The shadows are always with me.


© 2011 Coyote Poetry