by Marvin "Swashplate" Camp
By Swashplate

I look in the mirror and don't like what I see,
Who is this messed up dude looking back at me.
Hair once light brown and combed so neat,
Now turning gray, looks like a dead cat in the street.

A face, plump and wrinkled, jaundiced with age,
A temper that may lead to a bared cage.
Eyes that has to squint to see,
Glasses tilted wrong from past fights , I strain to pee.

I feel I am living a life that isn't mine,
I am not a family type man, a loners life would be fine.
Yet I play the part and not to well,
I have a deep sense of obligation, Thatís my living Hell.

It sounds so easy to just pick up and go,
The quilt in that is more than you can know.
Finances are devoted to wife and the boys,
No time for my needs or toys.

Is this the cards that I have been dealt,
Believe it or not, The Army life for me was great, I felt.
I feel like a boxer trap in the ring,
To be beaten for eternity, thatís a horrible thing.

The first time I really felt Great and OK, was at the reunion of VHCMA,
Surrounded by my brothers, I felt at ease and a warm feeling of OK.
Is this all life is for me? I pray not,
For my very soul will fester soon and probably rot!