by Joseph Sellman

Seven-up was what they said,
the day we went to recover the dead.
Our weapons were loaded our vehicles stripped,
this promised to be a very short trip.

Strung up on display was one of our own,
he died for his country so far from his home.
The anger it festered and in boiled rage,
we’d kill them all regardless of age.

No one was innocent they’d acted as one
his body disfigured, his dignity undone.
They’d angered the dragon, awakened the beast
the god of war would have blood for their feast.

We waited and waited for what seemed like days
fueled by anger, a blood thirsty haze.
Stand down stand down the mission is done,
the CIA had ruined our fun.