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Poetic Justice-(graphic Content Not for the Faint of Heart)

Updated on May 27, 2022
MFB III profile image

Artist, actor, poet, teacher, songwriter & actor with 4,000 poems & almost 1,000 songs written, performed recorded & published on line.

Never mess with a Marine, or they will leave you a mess

Exacting revenge.

Poetic Justice.

They thought that they 

had shot him in the head 

and that he was dead, 

but the bullet had 

only grazed him, 

creating such

a bloody mess 

and a furrow in his skull, 

that convinced them

he was hamburger.

Didn't matter much anyhow, 

as they hauled his

unconscious body 

to a large, deep  pit and 

then unceremoniously

tossed him in. 

The bulldozer was

being repaired

and the stench

below was horrendous 

so they turned and

scurried away. 

He awoke in a

massive pile of corpses, 

his flesh awash in

dung beetles and worms, 

crawling in his mouth,

his ears and nose,

while the sickening

sweet smell of viscera 

rotting in the hot sun,

caused him to gag and vomit.

He stood up on

the mushy bodies 

breaking through

about two feet deep, 

to find he was wading

in an ocean of maggots. 

He kicked through

the wingless flys

and sludged his way

to the wall of the pit.

He was a U.S. Marine,

a trained survivor, 

and he was pissed

beyond all measure.

With much distaste,

he began stacking the bodies

of all of those recently 

deceased soldiers

who had been tossed

into the pit before him.

It took several hours

to free and stack them.

Then with a bit of

luck beyond belief 

in his daunting hell

of melting flesh,

he found a 45.caliber pistol

and two magazines,

tucked into a boot holster

of a loose leg.

When the bodies

reached a sufficient height

he sat next to his

makeshift ladder,

and waited for

nightfall to come.

After dark he silently

scaled the mound 

and gripped the

edge of the pit,

belly-crawling out

onto the cool, clean sand.

His drunken tormentors

and would be assassins 

were sleeping about

thirty feet away 

in a small shack.

No guards were posted

in this remote camp,

because the only real

threats were dead,

He re-conned the building,

crawled in and 

methodically knocked

out one man 

with a quick pistol

butt to his head 

and then ordered

the other three to freeze,

With no time to scramble

for weapons they lay still

in their beds as he

cleared the room of guns.

Then he had them

get up single file

and march to the pit.

He ordered them

to strip naked

and then he tied 

their hands tightly

behind their backs.

Their eyes grew

wide with fear 

at what might

be coming next.

He then shot them

in the legs,

one bullet each

in six legs

and drop kicked

them hard into the pit.

They splashed

face first in great pain

into the corpses below

in sheer anguish.

They moaned and

writhed there until 

he half carried and

dragged the last 

unconscious guard to the pit, 

tied and crippled him,

and threw him on top 

of the others as well.

Then he walked away, 

quite sure of his

knotting ability,

and the stopping

power of a 45. 

plus the rapid  

infection rate

of rotting corpses

in the jungle sun.

He walked away and

left them to the fate

they had chosen for him,

whistling an old tune:

"The Worms crawl in...

The Worms crawl out,

in your eyeballas

and out your snout....

The worms crawl in.. 

The ...worms.....................

©-Matthew F. Blowers III


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