Kokoda

• Brandon Gillman, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2015

Hiding from the red and white, gripping my gun tight
While battling off the blight, slowly regaining my sight
Preparing for my last fight, hoping I last the night
Praying tsukamotos warriors don’t come for a bite
Food is running out, the enemy are up and about
We hear them shout, so we make like water boil up and spout
From the depths of the mud, Listening to the bodies thud
Motionless like a dud, faces drenched in blood
We are stunned, the battle is done
It is time to run, from the red and white sun
Down the track, time to get back
Don’t be slack, I don’t want to be a snack
My hearts throbbing, we are finally stopping
I now know why people fear japan, I whisper to Sergeant Stan
Don’t go out there man