By Martin Anton Smith Feb 12 2022
At Forty-Three, I Got The Nod,
From Couch Blob to World War Three.
Now I’m Half Starving And almost Dead!
But I Haven’t Even Left Yet!
Now There’s a Constant Ringing In My Head.
Coz That Bullet Came From ‘Direction Z’.
But Don’t Despair, My Fellow Bean,
If The War Continues ’til After Tea,
My Share’s Go up 2000 per cent!
Lo and Behold! I’ll Upgrade From The Trench,
To A Raincoat – And Then,
To a Glamorous, High Ceiling Tent!
But If The Enemy Surrenders,
This Great War Will End,
And My Share’s Will Tank!
I’ll Be Skint, Flat Broke – Outa Bread!
But Never-mind Dear Chap,
I Messaged The Other Side,
And Asked Them Politely,
To Keep Up the Fighting.
So Not To Sell Us Short!
For In The Madness of 21st Century War,
Having No Money or Stocks,
Is Universally Agreed Upon As
a Fate Far Worse Than Death.
P.s. The Glorious Soldier Outlasted The War,
And Basks In the Sun Outside His Mansion,
In the Cayman Islands.
And Now Writes His Glorius Memoirs,
Of Trading Stocks,
Amid Whizzing Bullets,
Going Past His Ears,
In the Trenches,
On A “Smartphone”
At “The Front”.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 