Desert Treasures

What kind of person would live here?
in the desert he sits and ponders cold barrels and hot dry mouths
the mind left for a minute as he hides a cigarette glow
away from snipers from the hills around
but more from the frowners and the book burners
and black flags always hide the blood
the jets arc high above, too high, who gives a fuck
tucks his knees into his body and dreams
of smoking weed at the college and the sexy English girls
his Uncle with the BMW the weekends of work
always the cold creeping through the ground
where it waits and soaks up the liquids
the Chechen looks above, the sullen angry look
the hands held out to hold an invisible book
prayer and close your eyes sink into desert rock
behind the truth lurks darker secrets
but he always enjoyed Call of Duty and never heard a call
just an idle mind stuck in a foreign place
an awful truth to hold, to take
feared and castigated screamed ‘lets go’
but the knowledge of long night shifts at Tesco
makes him hold the rifle tighter
and the future wont be brighter

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