wrong side of history

i marched off like the rest
and ashamed now
to admit how proud
i strutted down the street
as drums of war beat
their all-too-familiar tune
once more. it was june
and endless dusty fields
stretched out far before me
atop my metal beast,
sun cresting in the east
as meine Kameraden dreamed
of pretty girls or personal glory.
by now you know the story,
it’s broadest strokes
outlined in lines of books
but of that fateful day
with winter’s cold months away
(and the sniper’s bullet too)
what words can i share with you?
it’s really not such a mystery
to be on the wrong side of history.