Camo Christmas

On the side of his cot; He sits
all alone-
Untying his boots; 'jus thinkin'
of home-
Cavlar kept close; In case of
an attack-
In this sand covered hell; Known
only as Iraq

He looks all around and then
sighs really low-
Yearning to hold the wife he
loves so-
He opens his wallet to take a quick
look-
At the photo of his son; Reading his
first book

Three nights before Christmas; No
lights in the hooch-
Not a creature was stirring; Not
even a stray pooch-
Soldier by choice; He knows
the routine-
It's water not eggnog; In his
camo'd canteen

There's no fireplace to hang the
stockings with care-
St. Nick won't be visitin'; He
wouldn't dare-
It's Apaches not reindeer, that
fills the night sky-
On Dasher; On Prancer; Keep
flyin' on by

He lies back on his cot; In hopes
of a nap-
While dreamin' his daughter, is
snug in his lap-
There's no room for sugarplums; to
dance in his head-
He has to stay focused on the
insurgents instead

It's a camoflauged Christmas; No
holiday cheer-
Knowing the bombers are trying
to get near-
Soldier by choice; He knows
why he's here-
He laces up his boots, and
whispers real low-
Merry Christmas Sweetheart-
Maybe next year

© Lisa Hilbers
12/22/2005