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A Cigarette Comrade

A Cigarette Comrade
A cigarette comrade–
before I die
my face is torn
and my eyes are gone
but if you hold it to my lips
I can still draw the flame.

It matters not comrade–
that we are foe
I’m comfortable here
in your hospital tent
quietly bleeding into the dirt below.

Forgive me comrade–
if I call my mother’s name
but it’s so lonely here
on your hospital floor
and it helps me with the pain.

You weep for me comrade–
please don’t be sad
the cowbells sound
I hear the doves
it is a good day for my life to end.

The butt is sodden comrade–
and I leave you now
goodbye my friend
until we meet again
far, far away from this African hell.

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