Sitting alone in a gray dark equipment room.
Radios hum and speak of an approaching meeting.
Sailors cheer for the arrival of death.
I cling to a tattered folded picture of my wife and child,
"Do they have pictures of their families?"
Death count is marked out on a clean white board.
One mark = one ship = 250 men
Each target on the green radar screen now is orange and red,
decaying on the smooth bottom of the Gulf Sidra.
Wild-eyed sailors full of bloodlust rejoiced as the marks were scratched.
We watched American Graffiti the night we killed Kadafy's daughter,
We woke up the next morning to find 5 marks etched on the board.
What war heroes we were.

03/26/2003