2 JAN 04 by F.S. Blake

by F.S. Blake

2 Jan

There were loud explosions in a nearby distance
So I grabbed some war things and opened a door
Urgently swept into a tide of action and anger
that dropped us into the back of a thick armoured beast

We roared out to a foreign road
A war machine coping with pre weekend rush hour
and we pushed our way to wherever someone said to go
Weapons ready and revenge well loaded

We roamed ancient orchards looking for evidence
that attackers had fired at us from there
we found only farmers and poverty and sweat
a perfect calculus of despair

Their lobs had poked at our temporary home
but when we looked for them now
all drones, and satellites and technological dominance
couldn’t solve for their babylonian simplicity

We trudged about, ruining boots and moods
Postured with trained arrogance and power
then we loaded back up
and rolled on tracks of futility
back to our violated safe place

It wasn’t till we got home
and we saw our leader toss his helmet through a plate glass window
that we realized an unheard radio broadcast
bore the news of our new forever pain

“Eric is dead”