War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

out there

they slaughtered the old ewe
hours before my Chinook landed
out there on the village lip,
its throat slit (by a gruesomely dull knife)
for the week’s shura, there was no blood
in the dust, the rusty knife wiped clean;
I unvelcroed my frag vest, undid my helmet,
sat down on a picnic bench
to plates of warm naan,cold mutton,
cans of Coke to wash it down
me and the Major ate
and laughed in the middle
of the war zone.

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled out there. It was posted here on June 18, 2010.


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