After waking up to news reports of America’s use of ‘the Mother of All Bombs’, I started to write this:
Over old war notes my inquisitors wide eyes,
Fixated on my face, what did you do?
Did you fire on foe from fields far away?
Go dawn to dusk dropping endless streams,
Destroying the domestic bliss of the Demons you opposed.
Did you smell fear as you fumbled for freedom,
Against the rats who threatened to rob your liberty?
Sit late into the night amongst friends,
The front men of respectfully responding,
only in reasonable retaliation.
When Tom, Dick, and Harry Boarded trains to the continent,
wound up for war, Dad what did you do?
My dearest beloved son,
I wish I could say I stood from the start,
opposed to it all.
That I didn’t holler and jeer in the street,
as the bravest of men were belittled by duck down.
That I saw the words of war mongers,
for a brutal betrayal of humankind,
than Nationalism definition of a man.
I ought to have taken my time to break rocks,
Rather than fire on the missed opportunities for friendship,
Between innocent foot soldiers.
But instead I coward with the masses in uniform,
I fired from a far,
Watched as around me my action transformed,
the warmth of friends smiles to grey pallor,
A smell so strong it punctuates these dreams.
A soldiers life is not separated into colourful squares,
of camaraderie and undying gratitude,
But rather the bleeding red rust of staples,
rammed into spaces to tie continuity to this world.