The frigid temperatures and the explosions
of artillery are my new alarm clock.
My toes are blackened with infection and
my clothing reeks of filth.

Rats scurry through the tight spaces,
and latrines over flow in nearby holes.
I scratch my head,
ridding the white infestation that tortures us all.

I stand-to, waiting for an enemy attack,
but only far stretched land, covered with shell
holes and barbed wire, is seen in the day.

It’s time to rest, and I write my letter to Peggy.
Eight months has passed since I last saw her beautiful smile.
The other soldiers play cards, betting
rations, guns, jewelry, and other found valuables.

Life has changed since I left New York.
I never know if I will make it home again.