Misfire

I unearthed this poem, scrawled down in the little black notebook we used during BMT. It must have been written 5 years ago, during one of my more lucid and literary moments in the jungles of Pulau Tekong. It is dedicated to my BMT 'buddy' Tor Weijian, who is still very much alive now, lest anyone think otherwise.

Alas! Poor Weijian, I knew him well
E'en as the bugle sounds the death knell
For he has borne me on his back
A thousand times, like a field pack
On a route march, through barbed wire
While o'erhead rang enemy fire.

He was my buddy. From my section
He died trying Immediate Action.
Peering down his rifle muzzle
Like a young boy with a puzzle
He sealed his fate with an errant click
Leaving a head wound 10 cm thick.

Weijian's now in a better place
Alack, sweet child, without his face.