selection

Spec Op

In the Cold War sixties
before the wall came down
we'd listen the comrades
all the clock around.
A midnight shift was hard
cocooned on your own
logging down the Morse
clattering into each ‘phone.
Tethered to your set
every bone would ache
in a constant struggle
just to keep awake.

Sometimes we had a problem
which didn't ache too much
just a kind of sweat rash
we called operators crutch.
Wasn't really serious
but it didn't look right;
had one of the boys refused by
an Amsterdam lady of the night.
The hours were so long,
and when quiet such a drag
with just a short break
for a brew and a fag.

It took a certainly quality
to be a Special Op
in a work play cycle
that never seemed to stop;
some of the unsung heroes
helping to keep the peace
just longing for their leave
and a week or two's release.
We listened to the comrades
well aware that our cause
was to learn all we could
to avoid any sudden wars.


Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Spec Op