Lackland Poem 11

This same drill instructor
Took us on a field exercise
Bagged a rabbit with the
Skill of a mountain man
Removed his survival knife
And slit it straight up
Sliding his hand inside
And coming out with its guts
Then drank of the blood
Smiling as he said"
"It makes a man of you."

Two three others jumped right in
As others screamed in joy or agony
One leaving his breakfast
On the ground

We wore the smell of death
like a whore's sweet perfume
The day we graduated
Accepting honors at the company
Parade ground