original poems by john allen

Under the Fallujah sun

The body lies there,
bloating in the heat.
Down the street,
the battered street,
lies another.
A lonely figure,
sprawled in death.
No one near.
No loved ones.
No friends.
Only the body,
lying in the gutter.
The marines,
in their body armor,
crabwalk past the body.
Eyes constantly moving,
spying every tiny movement.
The scrap of paper,
blown by the wind,
draws instant attention.
As does the dust devil,
swirling near the mouth of the alley.
The only thing beneath the notice
of the constantly vigilant eyes
is the unmoving body of the woman,
slowly rotting
beneath the searing Fallujah sun.

read about the thinking behind this poem


© John Allen March, 2005

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