Kerry “Doc” Pardue


Three young soldiers
Beemer, Fishburn, and me
In far off land we reside
We sit on top of our bunker
During mortar attacks
Watching the rockets
Take their ride

These three matadors
Influenced by their brew
Devise a game called chicken
Daring each other
To outlast one another
First one in our bunker is the chicken
We all stand there
Watching the fireworks show

Egging each other on
We pronounced our bravery after each volley
We toast each other after each round
Explodes upon the land
We stand and laugh at each other
In our drunken state
We would call for the VC to send them closer
Standing there yelling,
“You missed us!”

One round lands close
We all three dive inside
Beemer and I fall on each other
Laughing all the while
Fishburn lays unmoving
All clear is sounded
We go inside our clinic
Beemer and I are saddened
Saying we lost our friend

While telling our story
Our backs facing away from the door
Along comes Fishburn
Walking thru the door
We turn to see him thinking
We were seeing his ghost
Old Fishburn just a little drunker
Just knocked himself out cold

We never did decide the winner
We found that friendships were made
Playing stupid games in our youth
As I look back with better wisdom
And think we sure were dumb
But I still laugh at the memory
Of our youthful drunken game