C-rations

We ran through a couple of quick launches

of our mobile nuclear missiles before lunch.

Butterflies flitted through the grass

of this German meadow

somewhere north of Stuttgart.

We waited in the chow line for the mess cooks

to fish the canned entree portion of the C-rations

out of a big cauldron of steaming water.

Wilson was already whining,

Oh man! Anybody wanna trade?

I got ham and motherfuckers!

Nobody did, because everyone

hated ham and motherfuckers,

that’s what soldiers call ham and lima beans.

Why don’t you trade with Saylor?

That Alabama farm boy’ll eat anything.

Except even he hated ham and lima beans.

I lucked out - frankfurter chunks

and baked beans in tomato sauce, beanie weenies.

Then we grabbed the boxes with the rest of the meal:

the so-called bread course, desserts, and smokes.

I got crackers and pimento cheese spread,

a can of fruit cocktail, and four Lucky Strikes.

Sergeant Burgess was right behind me

in the chow line. He says, I’ll trade you

my pound cake and peanut butter

for your cheese spread and fruit cocktail.

You got a deal, Sarge. You keeping the smokes?

No, I brought my own,

you can have these Pall Malls,

I don’t know how you can stand those

unfiltered Camels, you barbarian.

He says, How’d you like your first time

in the Battery Control Center?

Out of the sun and in with the big boys,

where we pull the trigger.

I said, It’s not bad, what are we

practicing anyway?

He says, eagle strikes.

What’s that, eagle strikes?

Well it’s like this, if the Russians

look like they are getting ready

to come across the border,

we’ll hit ‘em with these birds.

They’ll find out that God

don’t look like Karl Marx.

We’ll make Hiroshima look like

setting off a cherry bomb in the boy’s room.

Ivan and Boris will be roasted like

marshmallows that got caught in the campfire.

Their bases will nothing but a pile

of charred toothpicks and kitty litter.

We nuke them first? Before they launch?

Before they even cross the border?

Damn straight! We aren’t gonna let them

catch us bending over with our pants down

and no vaseline. We fire off these birds

and get out of Dodge. Double quicktime.

Lemme have that chow, here’s your poundcake.

No thanks, I’m not real hungry anymore

but I’ll take the smokes.

Suit yourself, don’t wander off,

we’re gonna do another count at O-thirteen hundred.

Okay, I’m gonna just find some shade

and have a smoke. See you there.

I sat back against a rough barked pine,

watched the butterflies dancing in the meadow

and lit up a Lucky Strike.

Realized what I’d actually signed up for,

escape from home, great beer,

nuclear war and German pussy.

I could stand the Army chow,

but mass murder was not my picnic.

Only God and Richard Nixon could help me now.