War Games

a poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

A snow-white miasma with pink dots
came rolling down the steep incline
covering road and car,
I was driving on a cloud
but stopped as I didn’t want to fall down to earth.

Above me
the sky was endlessly peaceful,
till eight jetfighters came roaring into view
made warlike maneuvers
dived, released pretend rockets
and I was the target.

They left a vapour trail of disharmony
but by then I was back on earth again
driving an old jeep up a steep road in second gear
and thought how lucky I was not being an Iraqi.