March 31, 2022
Canticles
By Philip Fried
Who is this that comes from the wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfumed with lamb skin and burnt gunpowder?
Behold, thou art fair, my love, behold thou art fair; standing behind the wall like a roe or a young hart, looking out from blast-resistant windows.
My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.
He bears a sniper rifle, being an expert at war; an XM2010 with a fluted, free-floating barrel.
His legs are as pillars of marble, clad in flame-resistant trousers. His head, crowned with bulletproof Kevlar, is as a watchtower looking toward Kandahar.
Thou art fair, my love; thou art fair; thy eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters: thy hair as a drift of Predators, that appear over the Spin Ghar Range.
Thou art beautiful, O my love, and terrible as an army
with banners.