A fiery plume smoking
starry claims on metal,
the smell of burning cloth
you see before ending
through the darkened lens
of the flamethrower’s son,
now across the jungle
the flame-thrower
waits his turn
with its gripped sweaty handle
with its rusty fire starter
through steamy jungle
shouting: clear the way! fire up! heads down!
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powerful work
I hope that flamethrowers will be banned from warfare forever.
Ron