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DEAR LITTLE BROTHER Hi there, my little brother, Please say 'Hello' to our dad and mother. Each day I exist, within the bowels of hell. The horror stories endless, I could tell. Don't follow me down this one-way track. I know of no path, to ever lead me back. Please re-evaluate what you plan to do. For Southeast Asia, is no place for you. This war is hell, every battle cruel. So bring your grades up and go on to school. "Suck-up your gut," like coach always said, "Till the whistle blows the last play dead." Mamasan isn't all she was cracked up to be. A roach and a 'ten-spot' cost too much for me. Junglerot eats my feet, through each soggy sock. I itch all over, like a wet-woolen jock. We search for 'spider-traps' to slid around. Watch out for dangers lying under ground. We pounce over pitiful 'pungy-pits,' But casualties mount as we take our hits. Many men are lost to the 'bouncing-betty'. No matter how fit, for that, no one is ready. Jefferson, Johnson, Jackson and Long, All brothers we lost to the North Viet Cong. Our air support crew of Lopez, Gomez and Brown, Also lost when their chopper went down. Oh little brother, please hear what I say. Go rip up those enlistment papers today. Mortar rounds now alert me, I'm not yet dead. Gotta run, I hear whistling blasts overhead. Please give a hug to dad and mother, Gonna sign off now.... With love sincere, Your Big Brother |
Additional Notes:
Junglerot, of course is athlete's feet.
'Spider-traps', 'Pungy-Pits' and a 'Bouncing-Betty' are the Viet Cong traps
they would lay for unsuspecting troops. They all claimed many lives, and
wounded thousands more.
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