Thomas Plue Poet Rhyme

Ode To the Corpsman

"I want my Mommy.I want my Mommy",
I heard the young man cry.
That's how I made my living.
Watching young men die.

The boy had taken a bullet,
Right around mid-thigh.
It cut through his femoral artery.
Soon he'd bleed out dry.

I took my index finger. 
I stuck it in the hole.
I tried to make a tourniquet,
But I couldn't find a pole.

I could feel his lifeblood pulsing.
I just couldn't make it stop.
As the bullets flew around my head,
I could hear the pop,pop,pop.

My rifles butt exploded.
It had taken a direct hit.
I found that I was thanking God.
I'd found my tourniquet.

I prepared the lad for transport,
To take him back to base.
When I turned around he was dead.
He'd taken three rounds in the face.

He was gone, so I moved on,
Amidst the constant cry.
That's how I made my living,
Watching young men die.

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Carrie Richards December 5, 2009 at 4:16 PM A poignant, terrible look at war, and what perhaps is happening at the moment I write...somewhere, in some land, a young man dies. Well done. ~ Carrie

Sara Kendrick December 5, 2009 at 4:14 PM This is a tear jerker. I can't imagine what it would be like to be out there to try to do what our young men and now women do. Thanks for this one for I needed the reminder of the service of the deaths of our youth. Keep the creative pen flowing. Sara