War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

Little Corner of England (15)

England is silent under the same moon
John Cornford

I saw them stretched across a brown leatherette sofa
in that weird latte-hiss-lemon-drizzle-cake oasis at KAF,
Richard and Judy blah blah blahed across the wide-screen t.v.,
darling this is a must read, really, really, it made me laugh…
the scream of fighter jets, the dust, fat-ass Russian transport, UAVs,
couldn’t penetrate illicit pairing, dilly-dallies over jigsaw pieces,
ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone droning sickly over Tannoys,
a war carried on behind closed doors with A/C, hot mess meals,
“oh God, not steak and frites again, Christ the tea here is bland”
while the boys, the boys, were out there kneading the sand in deserts
and the CIED with their bayonets, beyond the wire, in Helmand and Dande,
walked towards the blast, while the pair in their cosiness, spent their war
avoiding calls from their husband, their wife, home in soft, green, England.


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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled Little Corner of England (15). It was posted here on March 12, 2012.

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