War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele


my first day in the wee prairie town I go “shopping” for a stove at the dump. two local men drive me there in their 1/2 ton. ready to lend a hand.

“you have to sit in the middle” the driver says, “hope you don’t mind being crowded” and I squeeze into the centre of the truck. the truck that smells of diesel and men and work.

“no problem” I tell him, “I just spent a lot of time with the boys getting ready for Afghanistan and visited them over there. I’m really used to being squished into a Light Armoured Vehicle with a bunch of boys and a whole lot of equipment”

I explain my past few years and pull out my “what’s the one piece of war art every Canadian kid learns in school?” question and the driver says, “in Flanders Fields” and recites a line.

“I was with the Patricias”

my fellow passenger speaks softly, “my brother, my uncle, my dad were all Patricias” “they’re all dead”

I pull off my cap. the cap I always wore on Ex. the cap that the boys didn’t recognize me unless I was wearing it. I show the fellas my rattlesnake pin (souvenir of last year’s encounter in the Grasslands with the rattler) and my PPCLI pin.

Patricas. it carries some kind of magic. that name. and even though I’m only associated with the Patricias very tangentially, it bumps up my cred. to have gone to visit the boys. the Patricias. doing what they do best.

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled Patricias. It was posted here on July 14, 2010.


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