a sho t
po (gro)m
abo (r)t
war
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a short poem about war
Tag: war
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The Fate of the Telegraph Operator
Tousled brambles in a plover grey summer.
Pick squish suck. Pick squish suck.
Learning longhand in a buttoned-down scowl.
Squiggle line squiggle. Scrawl scratch scrawl.
The big hand dithering on the station master’s clock.
Tock tears tick. Tick tears tock.
There’s not much to Me. E for Ernest. Just a dot.
Dot Dot Dot
Tapping out a sea shanty on the ship’s bucking deck.
Heel toe heel. Kick skip kick.
The blast and the skew and the swamp and the sink
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Civvy
Nick is behind the rampart when he hears the hoik of spit hit sand.
Christ.
They tell him they’ve killed them all.
You go, Pussy, they say, stabbing at his armband. We’re resting. Sick to death of your shots and their shots.
His gut bucks. His mouth biles.
They guffaw.
He lifts his gun.
Inches around the corner.
The camel is alone, tied to the gate with a shoestring, its green slobbers pockmarking the sand.
SANDERLINGS 