Now listen up Mister
We’re going to have to send in
Another extraction team
Early at dawn
We land on the beach
One to crack open the cliff
And the other
Search & destroy squad
Enter and locate and extract
That goddam cell
Any questions Mister?
Sir, no Sir
Are we reading from the same page Mister?
Sir, yes Sir.
Noise, noise, noise
Loud voices cracked and graceless
Bounce around the walls
Of the chamber
Of my damaged skull.
Irritation blurs my vision
Sunspots inside my eye-lids.
I am depressed but I can’t think why.
The figures wrapped in blankets slump
Lacklustre and inert, crouched to
Withstand some in-coming stuff
The bombardment of imprecation
The barking tirades
The high whine of moral indignation
The boom of the opinionated
The squawking and the bluster
«Oh she’s so stubborn, that one»!
(No, not stubborn, just old;
Old and weary and quirky
Just as you will be one day my dear).
After the skirmish the captain has a debriefing session with his Sargent
– Well Sargent, any casualties?
– Yes Sir; one Sir, Fernandes Sir, blanket-job Sir
– Was she stubborn at all would you say Sargent?
– Ooh yes Sir, she could be so stubborn, that one!
– I see. Anyone else?
– Two others lightly injured Sir; they was caught in the-friendly-crossfire- of-verbal-abuse Sir.
– Jolly good; any other business Sargent?
– Yes Sir, permission to request transfer, Sir!
– Good lord, Sargent, any special reason?
– I am Home-sick, Sir.
– But I thought this was your Home Sargent!
– Yes it is, Sir, and I’m sick of it!
I am depressed but I can’t think why
I can’t paint, I can’t paint, my hands tremble so.
I am demotivated shred by shred
And please witness the dismantling
Of my fragile self-esteem.
I am on the terrace now,
Soothed by the cold evening sun
And contemplating a misshapen cactus
Against a brick-red wall.
On the terrace
In my peace.
«Midwinter-spring is its own season, sempiternal
Though sodden towards sundown»
So I think, quoting the Poet, as I gazed through smoky chimneys
Then lift my eyes towards the open sea.