fact, opinion and poetry (not airy-fairy)


Monday 14 April 2014

Occupation of Tikrit 2005

In harsh and reeking old Tikrit,
Everything smells of death, piss and shit.
Each day the bombs are in the same place,
Yet the Yanks still drive right past it.
Over and again they go off in their face;
But they never learn a thing.
They're lucky most of the bombs are pathetic.

Unwanted paper blows free on the wind.
Dogs lie decaying beside the road.
Each carcase serves as a booby-trapped goad,
To Yanks who're accustomed to tidy lands,
Freshened air, and rotting meat binned.
At least they're wise to that one.

Line 2 is a paraphrase from 'An Angel from Hell,' by Spc Ryan A. Conklin.
A ground-breaking book, warmly recommended. Very different from books
written by officers.
This poem is based on what I learned from it.

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