Andrew “Andy” Ladak

WITH APOLOGIES TO RUDYARD EFFIN’ KIPLING

You may talk of cultured language and expound on civil speech
as you sit there with your brandy, safe and warm,
and educate your listeners with your fancy disquisitions
while complaining of the mother tongue’s decline.
But those of us less fortunate that went unto the breach
and in less benign conditions braved the storm,
we unremembered grunts had little use for erudition
and for us the humble f-word did just fine.

I’ll grant you, sir, that eloquence and ostentatious parlance
bespeak a certain rank and have their place,
but outside of your domain, the ugly truth remains
that there’s not much place for daintiness in hell.
The world for us was equal parts monotony and violence,
neither known for elegance or grace,
and the need to say the most in the fewest words explains
why the short and simple f-word served us well.

It was “Fuckin’ this!” and “Fuckin’ that!” and “Fuck the fuckin’ brass!”
In the chow hall it was “Pass the fuckin’ eggs.”
And when mortar rounds came calling it was “Move your fuckin’ ass!”
while your buddy’s howling, “Christ, my fuckin’ legs!”

Oh, I concede that proper grammar and obsession with the rules
are hallmarks of the class with which you’re blessed.
But permit me to remind you, lest you judge us from your tower,
that the message is the mission in which words are merely tools,
and in certain situations, I respectfully suggest,
that for versatile expression and communicative power,
the short but mighty f-word does it best.

©Copyright November 16, 2011 by Andrew Ladak

and for the non-military effete:

WITH APOLOGIES TO RUDYARD EFFIN’ KIPLING

It was “Effin’ this!” and “Effin’ that!” and “Eff the effin’ brass!”
In the chow hall it was “Pass the effin’ eggs.”
And when mortar rounds came calling it was “Move your effin’ ass!”
while your buddy’s howling, “Christ, my effin’ legs!”