There's danger near Falklands Six

 

Stop! Stop!

There’s danger near.

Maybe right here.

A careful bending 

of the knee.

 

Maybe a hundred bodies.

Maybe more

All along that

Bloody shore

From a distance looking 

Like potato sacks.

 

Helmets, FN rifles,

Machine guns,

Helmets and packs

Anything to lighten

The load upon that bloody road.

 

They’d run 

For their lives.

A lot run for

Their deaths.

They couldn’t out run

The morters.

 

All was cast away

The faster to run

Away from the gun.

But they couldn’t

Bend time in that awful mime.

 

Stands up straight

Holding that small 

Green cylinder

That was half

A mans leg.

 

Stop! Stop!

Now there’s fear.

Shining from

The small green 

cylinder.

 

Casually tossed from

Helicopters doors

To sit and wait

For the human bait

For unknown footfalls.

 

Looking around

“Get off the grass”

Every step

Was as if on glass.

That sack has no legs.

 

All the sacks

Smell of death

There’s a head

There’s an arm

They’ve all lost  lifes sad time.

 

Each step

Gingerly taken

Trying to float

On magic air

Staring at the scary ground.

 

No one making any sound.

They’d surrendered

But they could

Still take our legs.