Poetry at Sangam



Boy Soldier by Les Wicks

He talks about childhood
& prays for old age. There is no middle.
Ishmael Beah shot their feet. After a day of screams
shot their heads for the birdless quiet of evening.
Soldiers in the grasslands
reciting Shakespeare while they
snort brown-brown*.
He was twelve.
We are all programmed to believe, a flaw
in the biology.
Our flaky hearts
on all those disappointing flags.
*Cocaine cut with gunpowder
acknowledgement: Sea of Heartbeak (Puncher & Wattmann, 2013)