SupportOurTroops2
On Monday the general got up at crack of dawn
To make tough decisions and play cards.
He sleeps well, and so he should.
He needs a clear head. Our lives are in his hands.
The sky is blue in downtown Kabul,
Where generals stay.
While in Panjwaii it raineth every day.
The general has two lady friends in Kabul.
Good looking they are, with shapely hips.
But he sent us to Panjwaii,
Where ladies legs are never seen
Except under sheets carried to the tomb.
For in Panjwaii it raineth every day.
The general took his lady friends to play today,
While hot shells beat down on us
And tears flowed in our fierce town.
We know our duty
In Panjwaii, where it raineth every day.
We saved a dozen Afghan men today,
And drove them to their village
Where tamarind and poppies blow in the wild wind.
They have to make a living, those men,
From the dusty poppies that flower after we leave,
As their women in anticipation grieve.
They have no choice.
For in Panjwaii it raineth every day.
The generals will finish this bleak war soon,
If they’re allowed by men in fancy suits and fate,
So I can go home where my lady waits,
In lace and soft grass.
While in Panjwaii it raineth every day.
Along our road the tree was dying,
Where I stopped my car for shade
And a sniper’s shell blew off my leg.
How strange to see it tumble through the air.
It refused to obey me,
In Panjwaii, where it raineth every day.
Shock slowed my heart.
I saw the medics come.
But I wasn’t sad for they rescued me,
And my lady will bury me
In lace, beneath soft grass,
While the general and his commander with neat hair
Plan sometime to bring my companions home,
Perhaps to rest with me,
While in Panjwaii it raineth every day.
(by bb)
