In basics the Corporal was no Christian parent’s sonsince no personcould give birth to a demonthat liked to pressothers with his bootsinto the dirt.
Not grown up yethis two stripeswent straight to his headand the PT-instructor’s crossed swordsglowed menacing on his arm.
Through ash-holes with broken glass, gravel roads with piercing stoneshe made us leopard crawlwhile live bulletswhipped up dirtand running with truck tyreson a poleto him was fun until some men fellexhausted to the ground.
Personal letters he ripped openand read aloud for everyone to hearand called unmarried peoplewith children bastardsand visited prostitutesduring the night that well-off troops paid forwhile his fiancée waited at home.
l’EnvoiOne night I saw that Corporal runwhen he disturbed meat three amin the truck parkwhere I were on guardand I cocked the FN-rifleand it sounded like feeding live ammunitioninto the barrel.
He tripped over something on the groundand got to his feetand started running away, jumping right overthree barbered wire fencesand hysterically shoutedat me not to shootand suddenly life felt really good.
