2 JAN 04 by F.S. Blake

by F.S. Blake

by F.S. Blake

2 Jan

 

There were loud explosions in a nearby distance

So I grabbed some war things and opened a door

Urgently swept into a tide of action and anger

that dropped us into the back of a thick armoured beast

 

We roared out to a foreign road

A war machine coping with pre weekend rush hour

and we pushed our way to wherever someone said to go

Weapons ready and revenge well loaded

 

We roamed ancient orchards looking for evidence

that attackers had fired at us from there

we found only farmers and poverty and sweat

a perfect calculus of despair

 

Their lobs had poked at our temporary home

but when we looked for them now

all drones, and satellites and technological dominance

couldn’t solve for their babylonian simplicity

 

We trudged about, ruining boots and moods

Postured with trained arrogance and power

then we loaded back up

and rolled on tracks of futility

back to our violated safe place

 

It wasn’t till we got home

and we saw our leader toss his helmet through a plate glass window

that we realized an unheard radio broadcast

bore the news of our new forever pain

“Eric is dead”


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