Gary Jacobson


Pick a spot and sit awhile, at this man’s fighting hole
Where normalcy among abnormal conditions cleanse the soul.
Rest your weary bones in mind and spirit
Even get a shower in a helmet
Shit and shave without being shot at
Cheered on from afar by the corporeal fat-cat
Back in Washington overseeing this primordial spat
This little “police action” gambit
Washington’s pawns, uh, er, soldiers dug in midst the jungle armpit
Where you can clean your rifle while you dream of home
Eat C-rations, sleep, stare into the jungle, write letters home
Think of your girl, your car, what you’ll do when you again roam
Take that big silver bird to the land of the great PX back home.
Whether dug in a new hole on patrol over night
Or in a sandbag hooch at LZ’s perimeter, stage right
Jungle society revolves around words from “the world”
Very morale depends on home news in letters unfurled.
Fancy this foxhole buddies foursome
Just hanging out beside their sticks and mud dome
Where it makes it so easy to zip me up and ship me home!