war poetry

      BELIEVE IT

If you have been there you’ll know what I say,

When I talk about the Iraqi way,

For the rest it might be a surprise,

And might think it all lies.

At night it’s hard to see,

Cos there’s rarely any electricity,

All the cables are intermingled,

So candles are often rekindled.

The rubbish in the streets is piled so high,

That it’s impossible to pass by,

The kids speak English all the same,

With “meester water” and “what’s your name?”

The smell in the towns are so different and vile,

One sniff can make you gag for a mile,

The acidic odour of a dead carcass,

Can be used as map reference markers.

It’s wise to always watch your feet,

Cos there are streams of human excrete,

When we’re driving around the fact is,

That we are used for rock throwing practice.

You always hope that you won’t stay long,

As you’re a target for a roadside bomb,

Clutching a picture hidden in your locket,

Especially when there’s an incoming rocket.

What I describe is a horrible scene,

And there are places just not foreseen,

Now you say that this can’t all be true,

But I know that it’s happening in Afghan too.