War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

little corner of England

today I caught a train to the coast. a little corner of England where I’ve come to do some recce.

it was a day out. an English summer day. rain. mist. spots of sun. wind. rain. downpour. the kind of summer day that turns one’s umbrella inside out as one walks away from a cathedral.

we waited on the platform. watched the locals amble – this is not London – to work. the ubiquitous plastic shopping bag with pre-made salads, sandwiches, in hand. umbrellas. few briefcases. a backpack or two.

out of the corner of my eye I saw him running. running fast towards a platform with an incoming train. I saw him, he looked strangely familiar. yet so out of place. maybe mid-twenties. he wore desert camo, desert boots. carried his frag. his helmet. the ISAF badge on his sleeve. his bloodtype A Neg velcro’ed to his frag. and what the hell was he doing carrying a frag and helmet in a little corner of England anyway?

was he running to catch the train home or was he running to catch the train to join the boys going to Afghanistan?

he stopped the stationmaster. asked directions. ran up stairs then over to another platform. disappeared. I hope he was on his way back home

back to his little corner of England.

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled little corner of England. It was posted here on June 22, 2011.


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