The Grunt

Many go to war but only a few have to fight;

Combat is not over with the coming of night.

You learn early on the enemy is all around,

You try like hell not to make a sound.

The grunts on the ground are such a strange breed;

A mixture of races, religions and creeds,

Educated, some not, some rich, some poor.

The grunts are the warriors in every war.

No desire to be a hero but to just survive,

To one day go home, go home alive.

The letters from home you always keep near,

You read them more often when facing fear.

To most back home they can’t understand,

The oath you took when you raised your hand.

It’s hard to explain how you feel inside,

All that matters is your buddy fighting by your side.

Michael D. Monfrooe

1986