Poem 176

Another from the crowded year of 1984 …

( I like the mug of tea as more hot metal and the ground flopping belly up … )

The Gunner

We take tea break in shifts
round here
more hot metal in the hand
not much point in conversation though
with the state of our ears
we just watch the smoke
along the hills
like exotic cauliflower
or stare straight up at a sky
without clouds

the shells go down the line
one to another
to another
into the breech
cord pulled hands over ears
and repeat
one's easy
two's easy
try a thousand in a day
we're dead
on our feet sweating rivers
skin stripped off on the metal
and at every recoil
the ground flopping belly up
like a bad sleeper

a prick of a job
to be straight
but I'm not complaining
as they say
there's always somebody worse off