The Gamblers Poem by Gert Strydom

One rainy night at a border camp
in the operational aria
I walked past a tent
and while the wind flapped open one side
a lightning bolt slammed down
into a tree near to me
sizzling with blue sparks flying
before it thundered cracking

and I saw some young soldier boys,
a group of troops
about the same age as I
sitting around a table
dressed in military vests
and brown military long pants
drinking brandy from a bottle
that they passed hand to hand
and I thought that they were probably
playing cards
or some sort of gambling game

when I heard the clicking sound
of the cylinder of a revolver being spun
and a dull click in an empty chamber
and knew which game was on

and walking right in
I took the gun from the next one
after it had again been spun
aimed it at the ground
next to the entrance and pulled the trigger
and the gun went off
with a bullet kicking up wet sand
near to the group of us.

Sheer terror had brought soberness
to the group
and those men were silent
with their eyes on my officer’s pips
and I took the revolver
and first thought about arresting
the lot of them but left them
to be sorted out by a sergeant
who followed me in
after admonishing them
with a very stern warning.

The very next day we went into action
were taken out
in some choppers
right into battle
and at the dropp zone
two rockets flew over my head
just after the last helicopter had lifted off

and the game was still on
for the brave young men
who accompanied me,
Russian roulette
with a bullet through the head
from a AK-47
or living on instead
from missed enemy shots.

[Reference: The gamblers by Anthony Delius.]