Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
We were down in the province of Basra, Iraq For reasons not precisely clear. Our objective that day was a Shia run town; A town named Sari Mi Dyr. The road to the town was a minefield of sorts It was booby-trapped with I.E.D.’s. Still it was the constant sniping that caused the bulk of our casualties. The day was as hot as a woman’s scorn when the last of her tears have dried. I’ll remember this road to Sari Mi Dyr On which so many good friends have died. The day was near spent when command showed some sense; We heard our choppers draw near. They aborted the mission and extracted my men From that hellhole called Sari Mi Dyr. I’m writing my after action report, and trying to hold back a tear; When I think of the good men and women who died On the road to Sari Mi Dyr.
0
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
Absurdistan
We were down in the province of Basra, Iraq For reasons not precisely clear. Our objective that day was a Shia run town; A town named Sari Mi Dyr. The road to the town was a minefield of sorts It was booby-trapped with I.E.D.’s. Still it was the constant sniping that caused the bulk of our casualties. The day was as hot as a woman’s scorn when the last of her tears have dried. I’ll remember this road to Sari Mi Dyr On which so many good friends have died. The day was near spent when command showed some sense; We heard our choppers draw near. They aborted the mission and extracted my men From that hellhole called Sari Mi Dyr. I’m writing my after action report, and trying to hold back a tear; When I think of the good men and women who died On the road to Sari Mi Dyr.
john-f-mccullagh
Written by
63/M/American
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem