We found their bodies on the Kabul Road.
Hands tied behind their backs, they had been shot
at point-blank range, a quick inspection showed.
Four victims of some bloody terror plot,
their deaths are simply added to the count
while frantic loved ones search for them in vain.

Up front they give the signal to remount.
The dusty road’s been settled by the rain;
so we roll on — alert for IEDs,
wary of the people who surround us.
The sergeant yells at one of them to freeze —
for a lifetime nothing moves around us.

And so it goes on all of our patrols
in this tribal land that nobody controls.