Twelve Hours in a Foxhole

I took to my foxhole

Before darkness settled in

To claim the night. 

Friend or not,

My foxhole buddy

Was there with me. 

He was experienced,

And I was glad

Somebody knew the ropes. 

He taught me

To cover myself with my poncho

To light my Pall Mall. 

Then he taught me

To stick the lighted end

Into a pop can to conceal its glow. 

The first couple hours were passed

In whispered silence,

While staring into black, sticky air. 

We exchanged 

Two hours on and two off

For what was left of the night. 

My two wouldn’t end,

And my buddy’s

Was over way too soon. 

Choppers broke the distant silence

With rhythmic, onomatopoeic sounds—

Chuff, chuff, chuff, chuff . . .

And all the while

It spat red tracers

Along our compound’s perimeter,

Keeping Charlie at bay. 

 But the rows of concertina wire,

With claymore mines between,

Made security become reality. 

And through it all,

God allowed me to live

To see the dawning of the next day. 

©️Copyright 2020 By David Lee Thompson