AFG 1

i sat on a 1970's DFS middle east plane

that still had ashtrays in the arms of the seats

and tried not to puke,

 

i was severely hung over

and willing the plane to get

into kandahar before i blew chunks

all over the two filipnos on each side of me

 

the night before i landed in dubai

with just enough dirhams to keep the

hotel from turning off the room phone

so i made calls desperately to get

some money

 

turned out a fellow employee

was staying at the hotel the same night

 so we met up and soon i was flush,

or at least i could pay the full hotel

deposit

 

tom, a scruffy bearded yank

with an american flag patch on a

faded worn out ball cap,

notified me that upon my brothers

orders, who is now my boss,

i was to go to the bar and have a drink

 

1 drink turned into a blur

while a tall russian prostitute hung on my arm

not knowing i hadn't a dime

 

she soon realized i was broke when

i refused to buy her a drink...

 

i wandered off to my room

leaving tom at the bar sandwhiched

between two hookers

and puked into a fancy toilet

 

the next morning we hopped

on that clunker of a plane

with bottles of VAT 69 whiskey

stuffed in our packs...

waiting to land at kandahar airfield base

a dry camp and my new home...

Reviews

[Devons]

Prose poetry of a high standard of expression. There is a singular cynicism about the somewhat droll, dry language employed within the descriptions of this poem, lending it an individual identity somehow. It has a kind of resigned tone, and wise - rather, one imagines, like a jaded journalist living a lonely existence, softened by liquor, and unable to desensitise and sentimentalise his words to the public. A bleakly real scene-setting, with harsh, obscure, matter-of-fact, but colourful details that have an impressive sincerity about them. I do not like normally to make comparisons with well-known authors, but I have read passages from John Le Carre which echo somewhat within these words. But this work -as I have said- is individual, all the same. Although the poem is not specific in this sense, this is modern war poetry without sentiment or opinion, and therefore far more impressionistic than anything I am aware of.

[JC]

its easy to be self righteous when you havent a clue...

[Liza]

excellent job in romanticizing war, booze and prostitution

[Alessander]

I liked the almost Bukowski tone and diction to this piece, which read almost like a Rolling Stone journalistic piece. I think you have a good skeleton for a future poem here. What I mean by that is, that I think this poem is almost too stripped of poetic devices, esp metaphor, similes, allusions, irony etc and wavers dangerously on prose. Maybe try adding a few of those things (not too much though, lest the edginess is lost)? Just a thought. But, Hookers and Hangovers always make for interesting reads...

[Sweet_pale_cacophony]

Flying always makes me sick,well almost,my body is getting used to it lately though.I am curious why you do not use punctuations much,though i always say this to those who don't that i myself never used to until some pointed it out to me here.I love how you write your poetry like a diary and let us glimpse into a part of your life.I respect those who put a lot of themselves into their poetry..your last line here opens up to forthcoming threads and events so hopefully you would be writing about them.

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

completely pulled into this world through the raw and bareback style you utilize~ authentic movements through very human moments served through genuine composition!~

[Miss Coral]

Concise, interesting, with a consistent flow. Great piece, well described setting and story. Nice job. c:

Coral

[jenniewren (J.W. Bouwma..]

oh wow.. J. the picture you draw in this is so sniper shot precise. i can feel the heat and dust.. i feel like i've read something from kerouac and woke up blinking to see your shape silhouetted in the glare of the desert sun.

you paint worlds with your words that i feel i know intimately, even though i've never been there