War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

at the white schoolhouse

morning rose on white washed rock,
the rifle company, arties,
the ANA on flying carpets slept,

AKs propped like walking sticks
desert boots in dusty rows
the camp dog dreamed, twitched, I rose

I rose because I never slept.
I never slept I rose.
unease hescoed by that ready death

big guns, rounds of ammo
BATs filled with boys
rifle-ready, to rock and roll

mortars don’t strike twice, they said,
I lay on my hard army bed, looked up
fresh plaster, a roof mortared weeks before

but they forget
I carry a pen not a pistol
I’m not one of them.

from the CP I heard
he was up. the CSM.
pecking orders, checking coffee pots

hell, he was always up.
running the show.
jacking someone up.

monitoring the radio.
chewing chewing chewing gum.
always up. ready to go go go.

we never talked, he and I,
though neither of us slept,
not yet, not yet.


About This Page

The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled at the white schoolhouse. It was posted here on June 08, 2011.

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