CHRISTIAN WARD
The body is a festival of poppies
and smoke trying to cram back
into a 12 gun salute.
The body is Apocalypse Now
and Full Metal Jacket. The body is CNN
at Mogadishu, the BBC in Iraq and Fox
during Operation Desert Storm.
The body is Napoleon’s sword, Hitler’s luger
and Mussolini’s Beretta. The body is Vietnam’s
napalm birds and Saddam’s mustard clouds.
The body is the dried-up riverbed of chest
flesh and legs masquerading as art installations.
The body is wax lips, stitched-up cavities
and organs on the scales.
The body is a satellite zooming in, the sudden
press and a rush of flames. The body is tanks
making words fly off Twitter and Facebook
setting the world alight.
The body is a satellite zooming in, the sudden
press, a sideways glance. The body is rockets
making text fly into birds, a thousand likes
and right clicks. The body cannot rewind.
The body is Justin, 21 years old, KIA.
‘Justin’ was commended in the Sentinel Literary Quarterly Poetry Competition, April 2012
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