Marching To Absurdistan Poem by John F. McCullagh

We were down in the province of Basra, Iraq
For reasons not precisely clear.
Our objective that day was a Shia run town;
A town named Sari Mi Dyr.
The road to the town was a minefield of sorts
It was booby-trapped with I.E.D.’s.
Still it was the constant sniping that caused
the bulk of our casualties.
The day was as hot as a woman’s scorn
when the last of her tears have dried.
I’ll remember this road to Sari Mi Dyr
On which so many good friends have died.
The day was near spent when command showed some sense;
We heard our choppers draw near.
They aborted the mission and extracted my men
From that hellhole called Sari Mi Dyr.
I’m writing my after action report,
and trying to hold back a tear;
When I think of the good men and women who died
On the road to Sari Mi Dyr.