Browning Steel

Forced to pistol as nothing else worked
It’s never the same as  shooting drills
You point and shoot while lying real low
As the rounds keep coming your way

With a full magazine, plus one up the pipe
Thirteen went off at a hell of a snipe
Quick tap, mag change, with that little pause
Yet they carried on with a face full of dirt

New followed old for three more times
Tap, and smack, with a wipe at the dirt
Tim lying close and working real hard
Trying to jack that badly cased round.

I hate bad rounds and the problems they cause
But I freed the jam that bastard had caused
Once more the handle was pulled right back
Only this time it landed with that well-loved ‘smack’

Hours passed by with no more hurt
Up rose the dawn that we all know well
Then came the boss looking well beat up
“All done” says he and we trudged off home

Later that day came the news we feared
Two full belts but nothing found near
Tracks were close and foreign brass
But nothing for us to kick around.

Paul Gray

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