War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

from notebook #3 Shilo, Day 3 with C Coy.

I figure if I write enough of these that I might catch on sooner or later…much later

Stab Runs

Diesel moon ghosts October’s horizon.
Early rise to make the day’s scorched sum.
D Coy. bombs-up the LAVs with copper curls
of ammo, blue-tip giant lipstick mortar rounds.
“This is a team team team ex,” Sargeant sweats

“Okay you guys, fuckin’ start hammering.”
Green flag zip, red flag zing; arc right, arc left;
hills rattle with casings spit
casings clink, spit like sunflower seeds, old dip,
tracers whiz from gunner turrets. Bush fire.
Lunch break. Hay box, coffee, smoke, take a piss,
soldiers laugh, play hacky sack, stretch down on
summer’s dying grass. White butterflies rise.
A hawk darts O’s high above all. Of this.


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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled from notebook #3 Shilo, Day 3 with C Coy.. It was posted here on April 08, 2009.

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