Poem Set in a Remote Outpost of the British Army

** We go to bate the jauntier hun, the pearl that grows in the wadi. One jaunt leaves half the team without toenails, just shims in obis sucking up toxic puds and fingering the pearly hafts of their rifles. So we spar amongst ourselves, eke out our wraths in full gillie, knees against the dashboardContinue reading “Poem Set in a Remote Outpost of the British Army”