He Had Scrambled Brains For Breakfast Since 1968
He Had Scrambled Brains For Breakfast
He had scrambled brains for breakfast,
Since 1968.
No matter what he ordered,
They were always on his plate.
He took his coffee black,
Another bitter pill.
Yes his mind is whack,
From when his country said, “Go kill!”
It’s not because it’s French,
But he doesn’t like French toast.
It’s the thought of all the hawks,
And how they love to boast.
He doesn’t have a hankering for,
That savory taste of ham,
He thinks of the thousands of times,
A human was slaughtered like a lamb.
Hold the sausage links,
He doesn't want the nice patties.
He always sees the dark figures,
In Vietnam’s rice paddies.
He doesn’t want the grits,
His brothers were blown to bits.
He doesn’t order the eggs,
For the missing arms and legs.
He can’t use any condiments,
Like the mustard on his sleeve.
There was no time to bury,
Not even time to grieve.
He doesn’t like the sound,
Of eggs frying in a pan.
He’s reminded of his leaders,
Who are always lying to this man.
He doesn’t like hash-browns,
Because of “suits” and other clowns.
He doesn’t savor French fries,
Because of all the lies.
He’ll not again try,
Their pie in the sky,
As long as the rich decide,
Who is going to die.
Just like the grits,
He’s just a filler,
Just follow the money,
To the cereal killer.
Hold the mayo,
Keep the bread,
Just give the Soldier,
Some beans instead.
Just give the Marines,
A can of your hottest beer,
A simple plate of beans,
And we’ll get out of here.
He doesn’t wish to upset,
But he hopes you’re comprehensive.
He ran from a football field to a killing field,
And found Tet to be offensive.
More related poems by Micky Dee:
Vets:
KatyWhoWaited- letters from Vietnam!
