The dust kicks up on Disney Drive, a choking, beige-gray haze,
Amidst the roar of afterburners and the Groundhog Day-like maze.
I scroll the screen of SniperHill, while the connection fades and dies,
Searching for the redhead with the fire in her eyes.
You called us knuckle-draggers, mouth-breathers in the heat,
With swamp-ass and a heavy tread on gravel-covered feet.
A legendary post was made, a line drawn in the sand,
By the fiercest, finest phantom in this godforsaken land.
I look for you at Koele when the midnight chow is served,
Through desert goggles, longing for the beauty you’ve preserved.
Are you the one in full IOTV, or yoga pants and gear?
The Great White Buffalo we seek, through every passing year.
I’d trade a thousand Rip-Its and my stack of AAFES pogs,
To walk with you past T-walls and the feral, desert dogs.
We’ll share a combat shower, and I’ll hold your towel tight,
Underneath the C-RAM tracers in the middle of the night.
You might be a real-world ten, or a four back at the gate,
But on this base of gravel, you’re the only thing that’s great.
So keep your curtains matching, and your drapes a crimson hue,
The only reason I love Bagram is the mystery of you.