“It’s a parcel for you, Sarge!”
the words hung visibly;
condensed in the bitter air.
Ice underfoot cracked
beneath the sodden boots
approaching;
each step releasing
fetid odours
of rotting corpses,
faeces,
death,
that it was hitherto
holding at bay.
A dozen pairs of eyes
stared, greedily
as the package exchanged hands.
Shaking,
the sergeant held the box
in its crude wrapping
of brown paper
and string.
Eventually
he pulled off his stiff mittens
with...
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