deepundergroundpoetry.com

Splinters from the Devil's Tower

We were young enough    
to keep death at bay    
but I'm sure old man Rammage      
never knew the way we worked it    
The wrecking crew    
always drew their breakfast      
from Katama    
gazing misty eyed over the straits    
musing on last night's women    
before the foreman complained    
and we remembered      
to fire up the chainsaws    
    
It was always a late start    
there was me, the English guy,    
Sergie and the boys    
sweating their summer break    
burning twenty one layers      
of army paint    
Cutting out windows    
trashing down doors    
as we swarmed through    
the doomed barracks      
hearing it groan like a beached whale    
dust choking our grubby bandannas    
    
Ghosts of men long departed      
shipped for Balaclava or Alamein      
watched from out on the parade ground    
where they once square-bashed      
the Empire's mores    
Breathing their death throes    
bayonets fixed with a sigh    
the grunt for King and country    
now tuned in to the last rites      
of Led Zep and a coup de grace      
delivered by Rambo      
spaced out on acid in a gap year      
    
I almost lost a finger    
in my own campaign    
when I overstretched my grip    
the bare bones of the roof    
made it easy to slip    
but Sergie grabbed me    
before I did    
    
How we laughed      
in the Barrelhouse that night  
young and blind to the irony within
 
Written by Abracadabra
Published | Edited 16th Jul 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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