Poetry

24 hours

By 20th January 2009December 9th, 2019No Comments

24 hours in this box
nothing to see, just dirt
And rocks.

This desert air is cold tonight,
My lips are such a sorry sight.
Throbbing, chapped and
Very dry.
This 24 will not fly by.

24 Hours of sitting, standing
Hear the helicopters landing.
Delivering, perhaps a broken body
To nurses with awaiting trolley.

24 hours of sullen thinking
Eye’s burning, fighting,
Lulling, blinking.
focusing on the barren land
The radio chat
The job in hand.

Estonians on this shift
Are a mixture
Some speak English
One draws a picture.
speaking of their kids and wives
Delving into strangers lives.

The brilliant moon is slowly going
Onto another country glowing.
As the darkness fades away
and melds into the light of day
I’m tired, cold, ready for bed
comfort only two hours ahead.

But I am grateful for the calm
for all within there is no harm.
This duty is a boring one
none the less it must be done.

Ross Bowen

Author Ross Bowen

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