There were sliced-beef brown-bread triangles,
boys on one side, girls on the other side,
hair claws, white socks, rashed necks strangled
by tight top buttons and crooked ties,
beakers of dull orange that dirty Chris gargled
before nudging: which one ye goanna ride?
And when I tried to learn to dance for you
my fingers marked your forearms red and blue.
Then there were blue coats on one side, red coats
on the other side, a battle of the bands,
banners waving in the sun, black flutes, eight-carat-
gold signet rings, a line drawn in the sand,
balmorals, plumes and epaulets, taunts and gloats
over hard-drilled drums. And when I raised my hand
to fight for you, my eye flamed hot flamingo
pink then gloamed to a stoned avocado.
But on Basra’s streets there are no clear sides,
just dust and heat-hazed aftershocks, infrared
sensor systems, suspect cars we’ve pulled aside—
you’d think their eyes would pop from their heads
once they’ve eyed me; although I’m mostly inside
the Warrior, or in barracks with hotheads
blasting hardcore beats that would drill your head:
hole in your head, in your mutherfucking head.
We move north to what they all call the shit
tomorrow and I’m unsure when I’ll next return
to your emails without the entire unit
looking over either side of me at the screen,
but I’ll be keeping a diary, to write it
all down, each dream in which I burn
to song-flames, poppies and embers,
leaves we might walk through this November
when the leaves, flared to fire-colour, take leave,
fall into memory; for there is a book
of books we all carry inside, its leaves
crisply turning, and I remember that look
in your eyes when, before I left, you laughed—
there’s magic in the music and the music
is in us—I read in that look for some such
meaning, in this desert, my make-up smutched.
Another unmarried woman with a child
has been taken, beheaded, purified;
and I live for my leave, when I’ll slide what you called
my un-be-fucking-lieve-able legs either side
of you. I look forward to nothing but the cold,
cans of Harp and soda farls, my hair newly dyed,
the soft skirt I’ll wear, the music we’ll play,
and we’ll get hammered on Remembrance Day.