JOHN
Ah, John,
the smoke got you
did what German steel
and flame
could not do
I saw you with
my big little eyes
down in your cellar worship
a year or
so
before you died
those same little big eyes
fastened on a Vickers
belt-fed machine gun
fastened high up
to that tall wall
what tale of fear and bravery
life or death it might
have been
able to tell me
if it could speak
but you did not tell
me anything at all
whilst you found
wheels and plank and
purple paint for my push cart
coughing worryingly
as you worked:
such a together, purposive,
engineering man
given his
mission requirements by
his youngest
daughter’s eldest son
my single real
abidng memory
poems 2 die for 