The thing with torture

words move, torture, humour, war games, effectiveness, interrogator

 

On the African savannah,
The mission brief had been simple.
Go in and find a Warthog,
By sunset.

The Americans had nuked the place,
Then claimed there had been none,
To begin with.

The Israelis against strong,
Local advice,

Had sent Mossad in,
Undercover.

Why go in looking like food?

They lost good men to lions,
But eventually got their warthog.

The Africans, however,
Had not reported by nightfall,

So at daybreak a search party was launched.

They found three sweaty soldiers,
Whipping a giraffe,
Spread-eagled securely to an Acacia tree,

Whilst the Sergeant-at-arms
-taking notes-
Yelled -
“Confess you’re a Warthog, confess!”

See – nigger, whore, bitch!

photo – webstockpro.com

evocative short poetry – words move

The man at the bar

short poetry, words move, smoking gif

The man is pressed into the lime green decor,
This bar is known for.

Four cones of orange light form,
Four distinct pools,
On the blue formica counter.

There is music playing and he,
Taps his foot methodically,
On the porous brown floor.

I am taken by the hair on his arms,
Down to his knuckles,
Dark and thick.

The barman glances at the silver case,
The man has pulled his cigarettes from.

I am aware of a pulsing at my throat.

Two women,
One carrying a large important handbag,
The other,
A Japanese fan,
Conquer the purple leather bar-stools,
On either side of him.

We are at war.

Due to irregular patterns on my Hawaiian shirt,
It is not clear which way this will go.


image – twilightwap.com♦ linux hosting

evocative short poetry – words move