A Whackadoodle Poem: Bosnia in the Winter of 1997 (A Sonnet)
I went to Bosnia in 1997 as a part of the United Nations Peace Keeping Mission. We were there to entertain the troupes over Christmas. This sonnet is inspired by what I saw there.
Bosnia in the Winter of 1997
Fifty soldiers danced the Macarena
on New Years Eve in perfect unison;
dressed in matching white troop insignia,
semi-automatics bounced with each turn.
Six children walked to town within a snow
covered mine field. Sunlight glistening through
icicles, reflecting a land somehow
aglow with roofless homes where diapers blew.
Three soldiers bragged that they could make a bomb
from two “meal ready to eat” packs, while this
quiet young private just mentioned a psalm
and warned that payment for good work brought risks.
He said, “Don’t do a good job around here,
or they’ll stick you with another year’s tour.”
Fantastic!
Yes, I remember the eagles. I also remember other tours we shared. One where we prayed in a Buddha temple; another when we were a threesome, you, me and Barry Duckett (one of the best humans ever who didn't stay long enough)