An Informal Affair By: John Dough

An Informal Affair

Fix bayonets!

Charge!

At the double lads!

The sergeant cries.

The Company flies into battle.

A battle of honor, now lost,

Now vacant from war,

Never to be recaptured.

Instead of man to man,

war is now cold, lifeless, unchivalrous.

Generals giving orders from miles away,

tucked away in warm bunkers and cushy chairs,

rather than shouting over the cacophony of battle,

of war,

of shells,

of rifles,

of death.

War has become an informal affair,

no longer a last resort,

no longer something t be avoided.

If one soldier dies in combat,

So what?

The world goes on.

If a million soldiers die,

So what?

The world goes on.

But a million worlds have stopped.

Families grieve,

people stare in ignorance,

politicians cheat,

presidents lie,

people die.

The world goes on.