The leave over
the last bus loading
I take the seat by the window
weary already of the journey back to camp.

The war went well today
there was a ship sunk in Pusan Harbor
and a bridge on the Whan River sabotaged.
They say by Christmas it will be all over.

The news reached me
as I lay in bed this morning
listening to Madame Butterfly on the radio
and wishing I had a more interesting home 
to come back to than Oakland.
I mean there is only the lake here
and I am growing too old for that
so—after the war what?

Back at camp
the bronze bellied men of war
lie upon their narrow cots
and search the ceiling 
oblivious to the wall of night.
Tomorrow on a California beachhead
we will be assured by a drill instructor
that there are real battles to fight.