THE ASA
Anonymous

Three good buddies were drinking beer;
All their eyes were filled with tears.
They had decided to go to war
To keep the commies from their door.

As it happened, just by chance,
Each had chosen a different branch.

The Marine, who stood six feet tall,
Read the writing on the wall.
He drew himself to his full six feet
And started to speak with deep conceit,
"When the war is over and we meet again,
My stories will tell the boys from men."

The flier arose, a full six two,
To him conceit was nothing new.
"When the war is over and we meet again,
My tales will tell the boys from men."

The soldier, he did not arise;
To his buddies he told no lies.
When the war was over and they met again,
He would say nothing – until then.

Each shook hands on his farewell bet
And promised that he would not forget,
The one whose stories were the best
Would have drinks bought by all the rest.

The war is over and they are back,
Drinking in that same old shack.

The Marine arose, ribbons on his chest,
And stood in front of all the rest.
"Friends, I really had a fight
In Viet Nam, where things were tight.
I saw much action there overseas
And shot more gooks than ‘Nam has trees."

The flier arose, his eyes agleam,
And told of things that he had seen.
"I shot down MIGs, to my delight,
More by far than I could recite.
If I were to tell of just one flight
I think you would lose your appetite."

The soldier sat; he did not rise.
He now wore glasses for his eyes.
A strange new look was on his face
As he slammed down his beer and shook the place.
"Of what I saw I cannot say,
For I was in the ASA."

They shook their heads in deep regret,
And in their eyes it did reflect,
They had each heard, and knew damned well
That there sat a man who had been through hell.
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