Copyright jim ferguson 2017
Helicopters in the Sky
in the August sky the setting sun was saturated red,
some lost their limbs, some lost their head, others simply dead,
my eyes tight shut, my mother’s face, and the girl I loved,
danced through my desperate mind:- the petrol fumes, the smoke rose up,
mocked our hearts and lungs; I thought I heard big Robert crying for his mum.
what use the burning desert sands? what use the oil crude and black?
what use the beer and whisky or those good mates who watch your back?
one simple wrong turn of the wheel, one short-lived instant, one bad move;
you’re left to dig yourself out, wait for help to arrive, cling to forlorn hopes
of helicopters in the sky:- now all I do is wonder how I managed not to die.
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