Medals

I saw camels glide:
well-mounted Bedouin with El Orrance
at their head and bound for Aqaba,
whose fall announced with a crash
the impending slide of Empire
and barbarians at the gate.

I saw the smoke curl,
above Mesopotamian cypress;
saw string-and-canvas death skate
above the Tigris and Euphrates,
bringing gas to tribesmen
and destitution to the King of Kurdistan.

I saw Hurricanes
at Tobruk - their masters playing board games
with their pilots' lives - and heard
the engine whine, the whistler of the wind
of death above the desert,
while sands swallowed Tigers and men.

I saw medals won:
for board games, and gas attacks or
terrorism by other names in
outposts, where the sand in the engine
was ourselves and we were at once
the machine and willing saboteurs.