My Old Steel Pot*

I cooked my meals in
My old steel pot.
Sometimes it was a helmet
Other times it was not.

On my head it weighed
A hundred pounds
But it protected my brains
And my coffee grounds.

I used it mornings
To lather and shave.
I’d take it everywhere
From the field to the grave.

In it I scrambled
Liberated eggs
Though that was a violation
Of Army regs.

I was supposed to turn it in
When I mustered out
But it was goin' with me
Beyond any doubt!

I still have that old pot
Somewhere in my attic.
If I lost that treasure
It’d be traumatic.

Those new Army helmets
Just ain’t the same…
Like kissin' a lady
Or a painted-up dame.

Take it from me
I know what I’m sayin’
That pot was worth every dime
Uncle Sam was payin’!


*I remember an old black and white photo of my dad, cooking a meal in his battered steel pot, somewhere in France. His track was hid under a camouflage net, under a tree...but he was obvious in his delight in whatever that old steel pot was cooking!