Tags
Australian poet, Formal poetry, Hand grenade instructors, Hand grenades, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet
Hand Grenade Instructors
It’s not a job most people would desire;
The guys who do it always seem so tense.
They count each day until they can retire.
Their extra pay is little recompense
For teaching those without an ounce of sense,
And petrified with fear, just how to throw
Grenades – the strain I guess must be immense.
Some fool beside you with a bomb – you know
That he may drop the bloody thing and blow
You both to Hell: “Don’t panic – pull the pin.
You see those dummies lined up in a row?
Now throw!” – the trainee’s face twists in a grin.
The primed grenade drops as his body shakes;
And in a cold sweat the instructor wakes.
dnobrienpoetry 
In Singapore we do compulsory national service. Can tell you many stories—both hilarious and scary—about grenades and the morons who step up with a nervous grin. Some of these idiots became officers and leaders of industry and government.
Love it. Great work.