By Gary Smith | 17 Oct 17
Doctors after war, Pixabay

(after the invasion of Kuwait)


It will be my turn,

after the Five-star General

who points with a stick at a map

has gloried in the ticker-tape.

After the battered troops have made

a tactical retreat

to what is left of home.

After Patriot and Scud.

After the oil-spills.

And after Israel’s restraint

has been acknowledged and paid.

After journalists have un-earthed the lies

and the politicians

are back on the golf course.


Then it will be my turn

to go in

insert glass balls

into bone sockets

where eyes once were.


I will go in and I will

fashion up these steel-hinged limbs

I will steady my rage into rubber gloves

Pull shrapnel from gut and spleen

and suture throats for the voiceless.