War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

Stab Runs

super-beta, I figure if I write enough of these, I’ll eventually catch on…eventually

Boys, it’s time. Let’s blaze the Battle valley.
Shoot all her ghosts, her sizzling diesel moons,
the frying sun flung over her horizon.
Copper ammo, blue-tip mortar rounds
bomb-up LAVs, soldiers get stoked, pumped, for stab runs.
“This is team team team Ex,” Sgt J sweats,
“Okay you guys, fucking start hammering.”
Red flags zip. Machine guns arc right, arc left.
Casings spit like sunflower seeds, chewed dip.
They clink, gold arrowheads, into prairie.
Mortar whomp. Tracers whiz, flame cinquefoil hills;
last summer’s dying grass catches fire.
Metal clicks, hay boxes unclasp lunch.
Smoke, coffee, time to piss. An hour to laugh.

stab runs video

bomb-up: load the munitions into the LAV
dip: chewing tobacco, a favourite past-time for many soldiers

About This Page

The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled Stab Runs. It was posted here on April 10, 2009.


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