Mary Bradley


Airman ‘Little Boy’ Bradley was very tired

Last night he had fought with his wife Mary

She desperately needed a vacation to Hawaii

He was desperately needed to fight the War on Whatever


Airman Bradley rubbed his tired little eyes

He blinked at the bank of screens in front of him

He tried to focus in on the day’s top secret mission

A group or two of terrorists in 🔲🔲🔲🔲🔲 or somewhere


It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to Hawaii

It was just that he didn’t want to go with Mary

For all she ever did was tan her bloated body

Or feed his earnings down the throats of Vegas slots


Bradley drank another insulated cup of black coffee

He was trained to be disconnected to the enemy

This disconnection spilled over into his private life

And the boredom filled his head like the caffeine


He spent too much time inside this metal container

Air-conditioned inside but blistering desert heat out

Life it seemed was an assault of extremes

Us and them and him and her and this and that


He guided the unmanned drone on its silent way

“Was always good at video games” he would brag

Flying over a beach, what was it he could see down there?

Was that a woman sunbathing, lying on the sand?


He banked his killing machine and circled around

Hand on his joystick and her life in his hands

His co-pilot was out of the room taking a piss

Airman ‘Little Boy’ Bradley tugged at his trigger


And watched his missile send sand, sea, flesh and bone

In a million ejaculating pleasurable projectile gifts -

He flew on - successfully completed his 100th official mission

Returned home late and found his wife Mary


had shot herself dead



words ©Colin Hill 2017

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◄ Delores109

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Colin Hill

Fri 3rd Nov 2017 08:44

thanks Martin - I'm very tempted to flesh this one out into a short story.

thanks Suki - you're absolutely correct there although I suspect Airman Bradley would not have got away with his random air strike. But then again who knows what goes on? I hear 'they' are short of pilots. I thought maybe I was getting a bit carried away in the last two verses, changing 'the' to 'his' at every opportunity. It all ended a bit messy if you get the gist.

thanks andy n for the Like - very much appreciated.

all the best to you all. Col.

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suki spangles

Fri 3rd Nov 2017 02:27

Hi there Col,

The scary thing is, this is not sci-fi anymore, and you capture the disconnectedness really well ~ the nourish vignette with the shocker ending..

And watched his missile send sand, sea, flesh and bone
In a million ejaculating pleasurable projectile gifts -

Thanks for sharing,

Martin Elder

Thu 2nd Nov 2017 19:49

I love these little vignettes that you create. They are like short stories set in verse, but more so. Such a nice twist at the end as well.
Nice one

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Colin Hill

Thu 2nd Nov 2017 08:43

thanks for the Like Desmond.

thanks Ray - Just before posting I took out the references to ISIS and Syria so as not to root it in the present or to any one conflict. But the whole thing is all over the place time wise - Little Boy being the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, Mary Bradley featured in Jona Lewie's 1980 anti-war song Stop the Cavalry and the Velvets song is from 1968. I only bunged it on because I was tempted to incorporate their last line: 'and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun' - and subconsciously I had John Cale reciting mine as I wrote it lol. I guess it's that time of year again when I post an anti-war poem. I'm not sure it comes across that way but it will have to do. Thanks for the comment. Col.

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Wed 1st Nov 2017 21:30

The future of warfare and the futility of it - feeling like science fiction but scaringly real.
A little shot of Ray Bradbury I reckon too! I like that you don't reveal the post shooting.

Nice one Col.


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