Operation Tangent

I remember the Patrols
and the red dust of Africa
frosting my boots.
Endless nights on sentry
tired, always tired
and never enough sleep.

The rat packs
cooked eleven different ways
yet still tasting like shit.

Boredom, always bloody bored
apart from those moments of terror
when time stopped.

A chopper and no mail
and the loneliness
of isolation.

The oppressive heat of the Kalahari
the cooling after a long rain
and the beauty of an African sunset.

But most of all
I remember the nights,
the Southern Cross, and you.

©Mike Subritzky
January 2002