Perfunctory Retaliation

Perfunctory Retaliation

 
Redundant, notwithstanding tales of recompense;
Sixteen supple soldiers sitting on a fence.
 
One calls out in his native tongue, a shout:
“Never you mind, there’s a lot of it about!”
 
Indignantly, they cherish, a lanyard in a pit,
Retaliate, they must, or cover him with spit.
 
Guns ablaze, they jump off, coupled with a yell:
“Stay there, lest we wrestle with a bloody hell!”
 
He goes down quick and easy, barely with a fight,
Fifteen uniforms remain, a crow that flies at night.
 


Posted In: Poems

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