The Bustards Egg

Behind me.
Frozen
Military issued hands down my military issued trousers
This is no military issue for me!

Chew the fat (grit) of horror, incomprehensible
War, a sandwich, pickles, squashed between.

Covered in sweat, grime, tears
my flesh is sore
Bullets soar o're
A boar
or is it?

A war.

Screaming
Blood
The bustards egg
Foie gras, indigestible

She spits
Like a mortar, her yolk exposed
and drips down my hairy back.

Authority exudes
Pouring from every crack and crevasse, and crack
Like my mother
Scolding me
I feel alive.

Breasts like bulbs
A flower?
Milk?
Sugar?
Something sweeter.

A cake! A cake!
Red velvet
A reluctant bite

A fortnight passes
One more taste
"Mother?"