The Cost of War

 
The cost of war is getting costlier in Afghanistan. According to USA Today, based on the February figures, the monthly cost of fighting the war in Afghanistan has surpassed that of fighting in Iraq–$6.7 billion in Afghanistan, compared with $5.5 billion in Iraq. I know we had to expand our efforts in that country, but the question is, are we doing enough or too little. I heard today that the generals are saying no one is winning there. No one is winning.
 
No one ever wins in war. Unless the enemy is either assimilated or destroyed. The question then is really quite simple. What are we prepared to do? Since there is no answer from those in command who are much smarter than me, I found myself writing a poem–another war poem. Damn,  I hate war. And I hate the human tragedy of war, the sad stories that are never told because they’re so small, so meaningless in the grand scheme of history.
 
Men are dying in Afghanistan. Soldiers. Insurgents. Idiots. But so are women. Dying. Has nothing to do with the war. The number one cause of death for Afghanistan women is pregnancy. Pregnancy. Maternal mortality. One of the most beautiful, if not essential, aspects of life–pregnancy and birth. Killing women.
 
 

The Last Soldier Out

I stood there on the highway that day

Watching my best friend’s life drain away

In the bright red blood—God, it was red

Like I’ve never seen blood not yet quite dead,

Or figured out that parts of us live

Longer than other parts—God forgive

Me for praying that my dick don’t die

Before I do. Still yet, I don’t know why

Bobby got tagged. I mean, he’s the one

Who was up on top manning the gun

Shucked his battle rattle1 in the heat

Watching out for Jinglies2 rocking the street

Only roadside bombs don’t carry signs

Where teenage Taliban have designs

Where locals say go pound salt3 like that’s that

But it’s Bobby’s guts that are in my lap.

So my friend’s an angel4 now, Barack,

Sucking down his chow at God’s DFAC5.

Folks back home talk war attrition.

Tuesday is market day in Camp Bastion7

Little oasis by the NAAFI

Sit at picnic tables, drink coffee

Tell lies that everyone’s heard before.

Will the last soldier out, turn off the war?

 

 

1battle rattle – full dress battle gear, 50 pounds of flak vest, Kevlar helmet, gas mask, weapons and other military hardware. AKA “play clothes” and “mommy comforts.”

2 Jinglies – GI slang for Afghans, based on the drivers of “jingle trucks” a local truck usually adorned with colorful stickers, chimes and decorative metal tassels that jingle when the trucks move. None of these trucks would be allowed on any American road.

3 go pound salt. An Afghan expression meaning “go f* yourself

4 Angel – a soldier killed in combat

5 DFAC – Dining FACility. Pronounced dee-Fak. Where soldiers eat.

6 Originally built by the British with 4,000 troops but swollen dramattically with the arrival of American troops.

7 NAAFI-The Navy, Army and Air Force Institutes operate retail stores and leisure facilities for the British Armed Forces.—It’s Bastion One’s only coffee shop—a little oasis in the desert. Outside there are picnic tables where soldiers gather to chat about everything apart from the war.

Notes:

Tuesday is market day in Camp Bastion and you can buy everything from plastic encased scorpion key rings, Afghan flags to the “Sex and the City” DVD box set. It is a hive of activity with soldiers from all over the massive base making the trip across to pick up some goodies. The “jingly” market, as it is known by the military, is set up beside the NAAFI—Bastion One’s only coffee shop—a little oasis in the desert. Outside there are picnic tables where soldiers gather to chat about everything apart from the war. [English Afghanistan Military] [full cite] (Jul. 25, 2008)

night letter n. “[The teacher] had a letter—what’s known as a night letter—posted on the outside of his house that pretty much said: ‘This is a message from the Taliban, you’re teaching infidel work and all their hedonistic information, if you don’t stop now, you’re going to be dealt with,’” recalled Hodgson. “So, he signed it and pretty much told them to pound salt, which is like go screw yourselves. ‘I’m going to go on teaching these kids,’ [he said,] and posted it back outside his house.” “The next night he was dragged from his house, beaten and executed. Seriously, if anyone is willing to do that to teach children, I would be more than happy to take a bullet for them.” [English Afghanistan] [full cite] (Mar. 12, 2007)

 
 
 
 
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