At my post, I feel like a giant beating drums,
and calculate a bombardment that will rock
clouds, heavy as pears, green with poison.
Pink flowers of exploding shells will deck the ship
like a party, though dazzle-painted to invisibility.
I have learnt the art of seeing through camouflage,
and it won’t prevent me pin-pointing your position.
I wait until conditions are perfect to maximise
impact, before releasing poisonous fumes,
vivid and brief as a comet. Vaporised bodies
are imprinted onto the deck surrounding you.
Sickly and weak, you don’t project the right image
of a survivor, and your story will be repressed
by your leader, and unknown beyond your country.
Karen Little trained as a dancer at London Contemporary Dance School, and as a Sculptor at Camberwell School of Art, London. She has performed and exhibited internationally.. She regularly reads her poetry at events and has recently been published in over thirty magazines and anthologies, including Petals in the Pan anthology, Deep Water Literary Journal and Southern Pacific Review.
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