War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

after (3)

for GM

you call before sun is down, there’s no rye.
no dread, there is no talk of the dead,
but a spring, clear clean water. river bed.
green, gorgeous, sweet glass of early August
no more patrols, no more death wishes
that the bastards would finish me off,
no more cranky metal sleep, dreamless,
a future has divined from dust and waste;
eight years is a long time to spend at war
when you’re only twenty-eight—no dog,
no kids, no hobbies, no wife, no house,
no life but someone telling you where to go
what to do, how to do it and for how long,
you signed up, dreamed of it. but now it’s done.

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled after (3). It was posted here on August 04, 2010.


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