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Potius Mori Quam Foedari

8/11/4 – the US onset on Fallujah fell the day in ful force.


Fair at the dauner thare I wis , Fallujah mercat wey

aa doun whaur the causey wis thrang

wi a hairst o wemen an weans aa bits

I chanced owre the ae face that didna belang,

– efter a shog, an a teug at ma burnous –

an steikit til ma elbuck thare wis Little Joe.

I wad hae spoken, but he wis aff at the rin

wi a pairtin risp o his wabbin velcro.


An Little Joe says til a lootenant o mines:

“I am buhlet brave, sir, but the mither o ill

claucht at ma claes the nou, an I’m fey-seik

faa’n; she glowert, an her leuk wad kill Bill.

I need ti be history, boss, in a Hummer,

for she is daith til me, or daith’s waur marra. 

O post me hyne awa, an I will drive or fire a gun,

an dree aa dangers in Samarra .”


“Gie me a Bradley, chief pal, an lat me blaw.

Daith’s waur marra’s jeelin mines’s cauld;

fae iver the daurk leddie drew me the leuk

I’m smat wi dreid the truith be tauld.

Chopper me oot, at the rooty-toot-toot

an I will flie at fechtin fae lik onie arra.

I am bomb brave, wee potus, but canna be daein wi this!”

An the lootenant signt him his line for Samarra .


An I forgaithert wi ma lootenant sune as syne,

an he wis blue on blue, fragged oot, in girnie tid.

“Whit gart ye pit the fleg in Little Joe?” quo he –

“He sodgered ye nae ill.” Says I, “I neiver did –

but I wis juist surprised ti see him here the day.”

I straikit a whet o ma tongue frae the heft o horn,

rid tang til dreepin pynt o ma heuk, an sayed:

“In Samarra , I hae a tryst wi Little Joe the morn.”




John Law