Rock covered armored vehicle
Afghanistan
Children and adult villages pelt
the vehicles with rocks as they pass

By D. R. DiFrancesco

I don’t pretend to know the feelings of war,

I’ve never served,

Instead living the joy and sorrow,

Loneliness and homesickness through my son.

Here I sit in my easy chair,

TV tuned to CNN,

Disgusted that there is no coverage,

Do they even remember we are at war?

I remember every waking hour of the day,

Passing my sons empty room,

Left as a constant reminder that he’s far from home,

Living in squalor, among Camel Spiders and Taliban.

He wrote,

Finally I realize…

Everything here wants to kill us,

My eyes welled up with tears.

He’s his own man now,

No longer can his mother and I protect him,

Our trust must be placed in his training,

Relying on his bravery and strength.

This makes it no easier,

Weeks pass with no word,

Sadness and worry are all consuming,

Struggling to maintain sanity.

Then a brief call or message online,

All is well, could you send me a few things,

I need new boots, snacks, vitamins,

My God its hot here.

For just a few moments there is happiness,

Content that for now he is safe,

Then he is gone again,

No word for weeks.

Sitting in my easy chair,

Still no coverage on TV,

Certain that they have forgotten.

Praying for the next call.

Don’t worry,

I’m safe and doing well.

PLEASE DON”T FORGET OUR BRAVE MEN AND WOMEN SERVING IN AFGHANISTAN

OR ELSEWHERE AROUND THE WORLD