" Red Hen Bombs London "
JP Dunleavy lands his B-52
somewhere south of London
the bombs have stopped
the gin is excellent
the devastation
palatable
here here
another Beefeaters
shaken, not stirred
the countryside adrift
with half-clad waifs
he sips his gin
his anger unleashes
on the waiter
by god
I wanted Ice!
Ice, dammit!
from the hedgerow she exits
a batter of wings
sun
peaking
on North Atlantic
a golden eye
to Ireland
there
there I must go!
© 2004 Michael Julius Sottak
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