Afghanistan is this summer’s blockbuster.
I'm at the cinema watching Scarlett accost her
Co-star, who kicks butt in leather and black.
The fashion this season: burqas are back!
The President uncannily performs
The role of gormless
Than his predecessor.
Who knew the strength of this drug cartel?
It’s not like we had the Intel.
But it turns out those boots on the ground
Working together with Afghans, let civilians sleep sound.
Suddenly the pace quickened,
And the plot inevitably thickened
With the intensity
Of a natural disaster hitting a city.
It’s a shit storm
It’s a sand storm that hits whoever won’t conform,
Buries them alive,
Desiccates their crying.
A plane takes off with people hanging on,
Terrorist pickups roll in and on
Chinooks Ministers and VIPs evacuate
Or, rather, flee for their lives would be far more accurate.
Nail bars whitewash their fronts
(These actors do their own stunts),
Pretty girls censored black or white
Because it’s immodest, just the sight.
Fighters discharge their automatic guns,
Bullets fly and get everyone,
But mostly women
Because extremists say they’re prone to sin.
All those bodily fluids
That spill when extreme gun-toting dudes
And Jihadis live large.
Fields of red,
Poppies like souls, growing dead
In cinematic scenes -
The audience ODs
Bored now, we’re watching with the detached ease
Of some date night geezer:
Really, who’s losing sleep over this?
Even when we know Nato made that promise.
But this isn’t fiction
And there’s no safe prediction,
However the ending it's all the same -
This film is crediting our name.
A tortured stare
Clammy, mortuary air
Breathes on the glass and mists,
Hit lists - drip, drip.
Suspension of disbelief is over
And the popcorn and perfume odours
Are actually burning explosives and heroin.
This is a patriarchy, no space for a heroine.
The aperture’s shrinking,
Bin Laden’s winking,
The windows are black so we can’t see
But we know what’s going on behind them, don’t we.