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Array
(
[sid] => 57735
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => PLAYING CHICKEN WITH MORTARS
[time] => 2004-07-27 05:57:27
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Three young soldiers Beemer, Fishburn, and me In far off land we reside We sit on top of our bunker During mortar attacks Watching the rockets Take their ride These three matadors Influenced by their brew Devise a game called chicken Daring each other To outlast one another First one in our bunker is the chicken We all stand there Watching the fireworks show Egging each other on We pronounced our bravery after each volley We toast each other after each round Explodes upon the land We stand and laugh at each other In our drunken state We would call for the VC to send them closer Standing there yelling You missed us One round lands close We all three dive inside Beemer and I fall on each other Laughing all the while Fishburn lays unmoving All clear is sounded We go inside our clinic Beemer and I are sadden Saying we lost our friend While telling our story Our backs facing away from the door Along comes Fishburn Walking thru the door We turn to see him thinking We were seeing his ghost Old Fishburn just a little drunker Just knocked himself out cold We never did decide the winner We found that friendships were made Playing stupid games in our youth As I look back with better wisdom And think we sure were dumb But I still laugh at the memory Of our youthful drunken game Kerry “Doc” Pardue Copyright 2004 [comments] => 4 [counter] => 165 [topic] => 57 [informant] => docpardue [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => war )
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