Un-holy Nights. 

-(the scars are brightly shining) 

©-2001-Matthew F. Blowers III 
Art~Whimsically Yours studio 

December twenty- fifth, 
Christmas dinner was in a can, 
C-rations,,dark green containers holding, 
de-boned chicken that was killed 
in 1942 years before I was born, 
perfectly preserved like a bad fruitcake, 
in the back of a fridge come April. 

A few thumb cramping seconds spent 
with a John Wayne, (can opener) 
yielded even more exquisite fare. 

Foil wrapped Crackers, 
and some pastyvegetable pulp, 
a stale candy bar. 
and a pack of smokes too, 
but I traded them for another 
antique chocolate square. 

Plus one Sterno can to heat 
up the glop, and maybe make it 
a bit more palatable. 

No tree, just a ramshackle bivouac 
surrounded by alien growth, 
and the stench of death all around me. 

Stockings were hung, with care, 
but simply to dry, 
from a massive rainfall just passed. 
The smell of toe jam 
prevalent as we slept, 
No sugarplums dancing 
in the fetid air. 

Tracer bullets crisscrossed 
the skies on Christmas eve, 
like multi-colored streamers 
decorating the heavens. 

We sang Silent Night, 
but it wasn't, 
a few boys got gift wrapped 
in body bags, 
dog tags marking who they 
would be sent to 
in a new year they 
would never see.. 

I think about the troops 
in the desert now, 
in a land of barbarians, 
intent upon death 
who scoff at the very 
idea of the Christ child. 

While each of our soldiers hope 
their Christmas will pass quietly, 
leaving them intact to enjoy 
the New year.due. 

Back home our politicians 
and their children, 
sit immune from the pain, 
suckling the moist turkey 
from the bones 
breaking wishbones with 
no attention paid to 
the Y's of it all. 

Huge plates dressed 
in cranberries and gravy, 
or plump hams, 
with pork fat rendered 
into delectable slices of bliss. 

While faraway the sons 
of the lesser man, 
breathe hot desert air, 
and spend another holiday 
far from home. 

Hang an ornament 
in their honor, 
let it sparkle and shine, 
for all men who have served 
in the bleak empty horizons of war. 

All those who have taken 
a bath in the mayhem, 
amidst the pieces of their 
beloved brothers-in-arms, 
rather then sharing 
the magic from Bethlehem... 
back home....wrapped 
in the arms of their 
loved ones 
at long last..