Replacements

think we are winning, wear new boots and bright green fatigues, smell like home, still have girlfriends that write them every day, can’t believe how hot it is here, their clear eyes look right at you, not through you, they haven’t seen a Vietnamese skin then eat a puppy, have yet to spend three days in the bush in this sun, next to a body bag, smell napalmed corpses, see clothes and flesh seared, didn’t slice off ears of the dead, didn’t shoot heroin into veins to forget all they’ve done, still think they’ll make it out of here.