Letters From Dick

It's Saturday night at Long Binh I'm listening to the Grand Ole Opry again Cold shower done, the mess hall's closed I'm sitting in this nasty old room I suppose I pull out that short-timer's calendar you sent And I do the math down to the last percent 51 point 6 percent One more day closer, one more day spent The red dust settles, the mortars hum I'm counting every number till I'm coming home 51 point 6 percent That's how much I've crossed of this long descent Every decimal point means I'm closer to you And Linda, that's the only math I care to do I wrote to you again about those high flying stocks About the allotment check and the boy's new socks I wrote about the heat and the cold-water shower I wrote something down at the end of every hour Because a man can't carry history on his back So I narrowed down the world to what I had 58 point 2 percent One more day closer, one more day spent The red dust settles, the mortars hum I'm counting every number till I'm coming home 58 point 2 percent That's how much I've crossed of this long descent Every decimal point means I'm closer to you And Linda, that's the only math I care to do The conditions were rough But the separation was rougher I'd look at those two little boys And wonder — do they still remember their father I wrote every day because that's what you do. You don't skip a day and let her worry. The letters weren't literature. They were me showing up. 75 point 8 percent — I can almost taste the air Of Tulsa in the fall and your hand in mine somewhere I don't think about the generals or the fight I think about the reunion at the end of this night 100 point zero percent All the days are spent, all the days are spent The dust has cleared, the artillery gone I'm walking off the plane where I belong 100 point zero percent Every decimal point crossed, every letter sent All those numbers adding up to you And Linda — I'm finally coming home to you