Fear and Loathing in Iraq
...see if I can remember
hold on..
Act One:
We gotta address
the silence,
taking us out.
It’s an honor
to mediate
the psychology
of death.
To witness
an
atrocity
is a
life sentence
of
suicidal thinking.
To atone,
live,
die
or share.
Act Two:
Boom!
Driving under
the hump of night,
streaking red lights
across the sky.
Rocket plum-trails
flung,
strings of clouds
illuminated by flights
of fire.
Over the oval
periscope
night vision screen,
white interior
tan armored can.
Ordnance ringing
shock waves
and
reason escape
toward
my steel embrace.
Make a living
they said,
a button and bomb
war
you say.
Not by my witness.
On the
ragged edges
of thought deception.
With
canyons
of memories
gone.
Over 24,000 dead.
In a
three day
glory orgy
massacre.
An angry
long-range rocket
glare.
Depleted uranium rounds
beware.
Act Two, Scene Two:
Public relations
Downplayed
the ground war.
Oral history
Against
the
idiot box
repeaters.
Sling back
my pain;
hung, slung and sprung
for you.
With a twisted retort
they say,
“...you know,
smart bombs
bursting in air...”
On soldiers
without a chance,
eating bags
of rotten tomatoes
and not enough rice,
or ammo
for a fight.
100 hour ground war,
Infantry
pointing tanks
to kill.
A Saudi oil storm
and the
oligarchy
holds our hands.
Keep it in the ground,
or genocide the world.
Act Three, Take Two:
172 hours
straight,
to witness
a three-day
massacre.
We
were out of range,
They
were not.
On the edge
of insanity.
Little green men
running around
on fire
in my periscope.
Part Two, Scene Three:
Infantry
guiding our tanks
into place
to fire upon
tomato eaters.
Best path
for a contingent
of
Apache's and Warthogs
strafing,
pinning them down.
Apaches out front
raining hellfire
And a
50 cal machine gun
Hammering
little green stick men
into the ground.
Part..:
I cannot fucking remember
until waking dreams
and nightmares.
Scanning sectors
and
best kill boxes.
So many
lost
to the edge.
An alternative reality
next to you.
A Lost Scene;
Where I was
when you asked,
"...you okay?"
“Yeah...I'm okay.”
Another gurgling
conversation
I'm missing.
They don't want
To hear
why
cluster bombs
are bad.
Private Dumbass
and I were walking
through burned out
hulls.
Got my section covered
when he says,
"Hey, look over here!"
With his leg
cocked back
attacking my eye.
I grabbed him
slamming him
in my sector.
A
shiny can
with
Eight spider legs
sprawling out.
Cool!
I'd wanna kick it too,
if I were two.
He thanked me
after I said,
"You almost got us
both killed!"
Epilogue:
I am a container
of that which splintered
singularly,
forcing the aperture
through which
I find my reality.
We tell a soldier or veteran
of war
Welcome Home
Because
the battle
never leaves us,
as we return
from conflict
every day of our lives.
My shit
still tries
to kill me,
my war
1991.
Scott A. Lee © 2016
#veteransuicide #22aDay #MoreLike55aDay #RaiseAREDflag
