The Mystery of Mary Bradley

Airman ‘Little Boy’ Bradley was very tired
Last night he had fought with his wife Mary
She desperately needed a vacation to Hawaii
He was desperately needed to fight the War on Whatever

Airman Bradley rubbed his tired little eyes
He blinked at the bank of screens in front of him
He tried to focus in on the day’s top secret mission
A group or two of terrorists in 🔲🔲🔲🔲🔲 or somewhere

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to Hawaii
It was just that he didn’t want to go with Mary
For all she ever did was tan her bloated body
Or feed his earnings down the throats of Vegas slots

Bradley drank another insulated cup of black coffee
He was trained to be disconnected to the enemy
This disconnection spilled over into his private life
And the boredom filled his head like the caffeine

He spent too much time inside this metal container
Air-conditioned inside but blistering desert heat out
Life it seemed was an assault of extremes
Us and them and him and her and this and that

He guided the unmanned drone on its silent way
“Was always good at video games” he would brag
Flying over a beach, what was it he could see down there?
Was that a woman sunbathing, lying on the sand?

He banked his killing machine and circled around
Hand on his joystick and her life in his hands
His co-pilot was out of the room taking a piss
Airman ‘Little Boy’ Bradley tugged at his trigger

And watched his missile send sand, sea, flesh and bone
In a million ejaculating pleasurable projectile gifts –
He flew on – successfully completed his 100^th official mission
Returned home late and found his wife Mary

had shot herself dead

 

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