Infantry Life

Disclaimer: though I was an Army reservist, I was never personally an infantryman. This poem grew out of reading and conversations with a few "grunts" I know.

Infantry life sucks

There are no two ways about it

It’s up before the sun

And down range in a deuce-and-a-half

To slog in the Georgia sun

When the air is so thick

You feel like you can swim on dry land

It’s PT and March and Shoot and Repeat

It’s a hurry up and wait and

Teach a butter bar to navigate

Bet you never thought you could experience

This much misery and this much fun

At the same time

The Infantryman is a different breed

He could’ve been a mechanic

Or a stores clerk

Rear echelon, air conditioned

And still got the money for college

But instead he said

11 B is the life for me

What makes him tick?

Is it the siren song of adventure?

Or the desire to leave the boy behind and grow up?

Maybe it’s in his blood

Father and grandfather

101^st 82^nd , 3 ID, and the Big Red One

Are a part of who he is

The blue discs and braid

And crossed Springfield Rifles

Connect him to generations

Of those who’ve come before

From the beaches of Normandy

To the deserts of Baghdad

Everything he needs

Can be carried in a ruck sack

And LBE

Keep his weapon clean, his feet dry and his canteens full

And everything will be alright

Death constantly looks over his shoulder

Ready to pick an infantryman at random

An infantryman can find exquisite pleasure

In the simplest things, because he knows each one may be his last

Hot coffee

Cold beer

A letter from home

A hot shower and a real bed

Yeah, infantry life sucks

And there ain’t no two ways about it