When I'm a preschooler, I love my sandbox. 
Trucks go over dunes and airplanes crash into them.
Sand gets in my hair, clothes, and cracks.

As a blond teenager, I crave the sandy beach.
Suntanned girls and volleyballs. I can't get enough.

When I'm in Iraq. EVERYTHING is sand color except doors.
Dunes don't offer reliable protection. I learn to hate the heat.

Now I'm a veteran who hates the sand.
My daughter's name is Sandy. I call her by her middle name.
My head is shaved.
There will never be sand in my hair, clothes, or cracks again.

Note: The author is not a veteran but spends many hours with them. This could have been written by anyone who served in Iraq

Written in response to Chaarli Mills June 20, 2023, prompt at Carrot Ranch Literary: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about grains of sand. Where are these grains and what importance do they hold? How many ways can you think of to use sand? Who interacts with the sand and why? Go where the prompt leads!