With apologies to Rudyard Kipling.
“What’s on the news this mornin’, Sarge?” said Files-on-Parade.
“More signs of the Apocalypse,” his Platoon Sergeant said.
“Hey, Sarge, how come you turned it off?” said Files-on-Parade.
“ ‘Cause I can’t stand to hear no more,” the Platoon Sergeant said.
“For they’re releasing Bowe Berghdahl; they have let him off scot-free,
“He’s said he’s sorry, so he’s back into society—
“The dog who died searching for him, was a better man than he—
“But they’re releasing Bowe Bergdahl, in the morning.”
“Ain’t he the guy that Obama…” said Files-on-Parade.
“Oh, yes, indeedy, that’s the one,” his Platoon Sergeant said.
“And we traded some prisoners…” said Files-on-Parade.
“Shut up. I’ve thrown up in my mouth,” his Platoon Sergeant said.
“The swine we traded for him must be howling with mirth-
“I feel the dead in Arlington, they’re stirring in the earth—
“I swear, if he’d mocked Islam, Bowe would be in Leavenworth—
“But they’re releasing Bowe Bergdahl, in the morning.”
“What were the charges, anyway?” said Files-on-Parade.
“Desertion was just one of them,” the Platoon Sergeant said.
“And did they find him innocent?” asked Files-on-Parade.
“No, ‘guilty’—with no punishment,” the Platoon Sergeant said.
“No blindfold, no last cigarette, no ‘up-against-the-wall’s’—
“Not since Bradley’s un-manning, have I seen such lack of balls;
“And we can’t protect this country with an army of Berghdahls,
“And I expect I’ll be hungover, in the morning.”
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