Eat Sand

So. I was over at my brother Mike’s and I saw a photo of soldiers huddled, squatted, probably praying. And I remember mention of a phone call of a phone call at 3:00 am from Iraq. My cousin Ritchie, he’s a young pup in a big dog’s war. I warned him. But he heard only the sound of freedom, freedom from his parents. Now. Now he’s in a war. The phone call. He was distraught over a friend, a friend that had been by his side through training, through battle, through it all. And now he was gone. Walking into the room. He stood by the window, took a drawl off his cigarette. Said something to Ritchie. And jumped out of a three story window to find his death lying on the ground below. He said he wished he had listened. That his views had changed. That people are people. And that they shouldn’t kill each other. But to this young man, death was preferable to life in a war in Iraq. Be strong soldiers. Be strong. Eat sand. Reflect when the time is right. But for now. Just be strong. And eat sand. But come home alive...with your mouth parched. Ready to drink your freedom...from war