This poem of mine was published in Australia last year by Les Murray in the international literary magazine, Quandrant.
(PS somewhere between cut and paste here and the actual News page on website, the last line of this poem has floated down a little - nothing we can do apparently. Sorry.)
‘Pro Patria’
Armistice Day
In green utility boiler
suits
they could be here to fix
the heating,
except for embellished
wings
on each straight shoulder. One
of them
still sports tooth braces,
two
wear wedding rings.
They’re in logistics,
fly supplies out overseas
and their plane to
Afghanistan is late.
I remember another café,
a man who’d consumed his
crew
to survive an arctic
air-crash -
he ate alone, a speaking
space
around him -
the stench of shadows
seeps from these men too.
I want to tell them
we flinch from each
butchered body
the plane brings back, they
torment
us like ghosts we cannot
disarm -
but hesitate, while poppy sales
scream daily of fresh kill.
Olivia Byard
