The Joy of Being Clean

The hot, humid air envelops us in a shroud; – the sun bakes with no trace of a cloud.

The greenness of the landscape an open sea; – except where we pass, a layer of dust will be.

We on our mission in this foreign land; – our steel monsters home to a dirty, motley band.

Rolling down a road that seems to go nowhere; – often for no purpose that makes it tough to bear.

The red dirt churned up suffocates and grabs; – at our eyes and throats it really jabs.

The noise from the tanks makes it tough to think; – with all this filth we really stink.

But coming up around the bend; – a stream gives hope that this, too, may end.

The column halts and guards we do place; – a run to the river becomes a fevered race.

Stripping off these clothes we call our uniform; – and frolic in the water with what we were born.

My face is all black with teeth only white; – my blue eyes sparkle with child-like delight.

There comes a point when no one cares; – that surrounding us are enemy lairs.

It’s over soon, we cannot enjoy more; – it’s time to get back and on to the war.

It may have been short, but a new man I feel; – the world seems better to be faced with a zeal.

Sometimes the small things in life are the treat; – but it takes hard times to make them seem neat.

I don’t care to again travel this path; – but thank you, God, I now appreciate a bath.

Editor’s note: James Bellotty was a platoon leader in Vietnam with the 11th Armored Cavalry in 1971 and a 1966 graduate of East Valley High School. He wrote this poem in 1998.