Postcard From Iraq

Who said I was lost?

                     I looked into the distance –

It is straight in front-

     On this path we now walk with others.

In this action, walking. Lungs, blood, breath.

    Run, run now to shatter this silence

As there standing by the tree

             Is the youngest of my gang

Just arrived from Washington .

He is ready for war, to avenge himself.

    How do you describe him? As Bringer of War?

As Bringer of Peace or Jollity or Old Age?

                                All these things –

      We have trained our youth well.

For an engagement to see nobody

      And then for a few murderous seconds

      The chaos of hell, of battlefield,

An aspect of land presents itself,

                                    Perhaps a hill.

          Ordinance this way!

How friendly.

           With noise, somehow intimate,

                    A hissing song of messages, of text,

(the bloody snap paper)

     As butcher bird appears

          With something much more personal.

     Shrunken corpses –

Licked clean, perfect

   By the blast of ‘your ever after’

        (cleaned perfectly in the high altitude of killing)

Only the “wish you were here” missing.

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