War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

triage (war ghazal)

you, she, sever ligaments, my body, o bleed
tell me, who, who in this has the right to speak?

speak, speak, pommegranate throat
noose, knot, weave, Afghan night’s beaten carpet;

carpet store on the Boardwalk in KAF, the terp of terps
hands me his shiny business card, I can get you anything you need.

reccie, young, hot, knocks at my door the night before I helo
outside the wire towards you, sufferer, my war’s desire;

desire, want, the shaking of the almond trees
the camp dog bathed, his fleas falling, dying, dead;

dead, the Role 3 medic deals triage, plucks rose petals,
this I love, this I love, this I love, o fuck, who should live?


About This Page

The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled triage (war ghazal). It was posted here on September 05, 2012.

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