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Wednesday 28 October 2015

NOT SHIT-STIRRING
NOR NOTHING,
JUST WONDERING

When some poor guy
Takes that bullet,
Falls twitching
And shaking
Spidering fingers,
Foam oozing
From the side
Of his mouth,

That is when
The General
With them pants
With the stripes
Should be there,
Medal in hand
With that
Smarmy smile.

Wonder if
He'd get
That same
Sticky metallic
Taste of fear
As the whistling
Angel-winged bullets
Magically appear
And disappear.

Wonder if
They taught him
At that Academy
That your bowels
Loosen, that death
Scares you shit-less,
That death ain't clean
(not here anyhow)

Wonder if
He even knows
Which end
Of the rifle
The killing bullet goes.


Manuela Cardiga

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