I got up early,
slipped on my upper plate
hopped to the bathroom,
shaved, showered, brushed teeth,
put in a hearing aid,
attached my titanium leg,
dressed, put on boots,
had coffee, protein bar,
went outside,
met my new partner,
an edgy old guy.
We drove to the countryside.
I don't like the countryside;
I'm a city guy.
That's why I didn't like Afghanistan.
We met the rest of the team
for the mission of the day,
to take down a big house.
The team leader,
a smart, tough woman
explained the plan,
took my suggestion
to send a scout drone first.
Most of the guys didn't like that,
hot to shoot types,
but the smart lady did.
There was no heat registration,
so we went in quiet,
front, back, windows.
It was a weird place,
a rich mansion
in the middle of nowhere.
There were lots of paintings,
mostly cows or horses
in big gold frames.
There were lots of valuables
all over the place
and the guys helped themselves.
I didn't take anything,
and the smart lady noticed.
Just before we left, she said,
“I'd like you for my partner,”
and I nodded: “Thanks.”
I still wasn't sure
what their agenda was,
but it was a lot better
than a nightwatchman job
for a crippled veteran.
This place liked me at the interview,
and I lucked out at the physical.
The indifferent doctor
didn't notice my hearing aid
and didn't have me strip,
so he didn't see my artificial leg,
opened my shirt to check my heart,
ignored my scars
earned in Afghanistan
and approved me.
I don't know if this'll work out,
but it's the best I can do right now.
I'll keep training every day,
keep trying every day
never to forget the faces
of the men I lost back in ’Stan.
