We drop, deafened, to the shingle.
The gulls, shrieking their protests
to a leaden sky,
rise from the beach
in a flurry of threshing wings,
as the cloud of acrid black smoke
drifts inland
over the perimeter wire.
Sickened by a dawning realisation,
wary,
supposing his careless laying
or a faulty safety-bolt,
we pick our heart-thumping way,
slowly,
to the blood-spattered crater
and drag out his khaki-shredded remains.
Then,
picturing the imminence
of invading tanks
splashing through the shallows
from enemy landing-barges,
we who are left continue the laying
as the returning seagulls
scavenge the crater.
Author notes
Option #4
Originally written when, nineteen years old, I formed one of a squad of sappers in the Royal Engineers, laying beach mines on the East Anglian coast as part of the protection of England from German invasion across the North Sea and English Channel.
A contest entry
- Some off the wall options by takemypainaway.
450 points, ended March 3, 2008, 24 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
-
this would be scary
i can see the reallness of the situation in the
imagry you used...
thank you for entering the contest...
--kat
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