It so happens I love to shoot

By Oscar Lilley

 

It would be great

to go through them

with fixed bayonet,

letting out yells

while loosing meat from bone.

 

I don’t want so much misery

for those under thumbs of petty tyrants.

Woman and child trembling

under the yoke of the mullahs.

 

Now, that olive-drab target

is animated as my hated foe.

Oh, how he taunts me.

He won’t be laughing

when the hammer falls.

 

I am pushed into certain corners within.

Peaceful existence lost with the Paternal Twins,

slights are never forgotten.

I dwell now in the dark, damp,

unfinished basement of my mind,

swirling Pendleton in a Dixie cup.

 

There are silhouetted targets mocking me,

but I have yet to put my lead dart

in the deadliest of chambers.

Each martyr-maker bears the mark of S or D,

effigies of two fallen in battles past.

 

Those targets are laughing at me,

but they shouldn’t.

Soon they shall weep

from shame and terror.

 

I walk by,

awaiting my next turn

on the firing line.

I stroll along serenely,

with my measured rage,

forgetting nothing.

It so happens I love to shoot.

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Categories: Iraq, Issue 3 | Leave a comment

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