A Whistle Cut Short Poem by Thomas Thompson

A Whistle Cut Short

2018 03 18 - A Whistle Cut Short

A Whistle Cut Short

The cannoneer's soft banter
As they expanded their trench shovel by shovel
Closing the circle around their 155

Suddenly cut short
Heads jerking upwards
Straining Tense Alert

A whistling shriek overhead abruptly silent
Cannoneers screaming SHORT ROUND SHORT ROUND HIT THE DIRT
Slamming face down in raw earth under soft twilight's gentle glow

The explosion not far off
About 100 meters or so
Deep in the green canopy

Now shattered by invisible shards
Hot death seeking its prey
It mattered not whom it found

A second shriek barely perceptible
Earth exploding upwards some 50 meters away
A rain of soft warm earth falling upon us

The third explosion within the cannoneer's encampment
A sudden silence as we strained to breath
Mute seconds becoming long minutes

Before life began anew
Cannoneers warily rising
Breathing in cordite tainted smoke hanging heavy in the air

The deep silence softly broke
As Cannoneers went quietly hootch to hootch
Before breathing a sigh of relief

For death went wanting that warm fall eve
An errant 105
Firing opposite its brethren's direction


Tommy

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
This poem is based on a 'short' round of artillery shells landing near or in the encampment we were at as dusk fell.
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