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what appeared to be poisonous was merely phosphorus
deeply tattooed into the warrior’s skin from an ambush
in the land of never-ending wars against imagined foes
with a myriad of causes cascading from power and greed

what does a Welshmen have to do in bloody Afghanistan
he used to have a lilt but now the speed impediment
was carved deep into the persona of horror shame and guilt
the snake had promised paradise not a distorted Adam’s apple

the stars had been bright connected by nebula and a waning moon
what an omen for the self-righteous soldier misguided of course
by fame glory and that now elusive war veteran’s pension
dole money merely covered the cost of the shack under the bridge

he attempted to count his blessings tried gratitude and the booze
which gave him some solace because blackouts were better than bombs
and the stink of his urine improved no end when vodka battled with vomit
but the protagonist never rose above the faceless evil of legalised slaughter

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