4. Job Done by Matt Ha

Job Done

Bullets soar over my helmet

Chipping away at the mud

Explosions all around me

I see an opening and I take it.
 

I’m being shot but I’m not falling.
 

The bullets are like pop-corn

Just popping off my shoulder.

I take the plunge

 then the fatal bullets hit me.

I fall, knowing.

My job is done.