The Old Guard

I walked up the stairs of the green metal bridge—
the same color as the Euphrates river. 
A trip wire was laid across the fifth stair; its conclusion
dull olive and painted with bright yellow lettering. 

I stepped easily over this and finished my trip.  When I reached the top
two men shook my hand and welcomed me
with filthy mouths.  One told me to watch the corner
of the lookout; it had been dark when he had to go. 

I looked in the corner.  A fly
with bright neon eyes,
the color of the water
flew over the area.

One of the men handed me the log sheet. 
0200 sand storm: NVGs, ser no. 646129 broken.
0300 red flair on the east side of the river.
0400 shit happens.

I sat.  I removed my helmet.  I took out my book.
My battle buddy joined me in thanking the off-going guard. 
One of the men started down the stairs.  The other stayed
and told me about the view from the bridge.
Truly, I said, I am blown away.