Oh, I do not
have a shock of
thespian hair

silver but with
ever-so neat parting
thanks to a German
machine gun bullet
on the Somme

this I do not have and hence
my words prove prosaic
lack drama when

God knows I have
howitzered them, attacked them
already with chemical weapons
firing-squadded them and
bayoneted them to death down
in muddy morass at
the bottom of a trench

only because they refused to listen
refuse to take stock of
dissolving hierarchies when
I band of brothersed them

they do not want
to share scars
they do not want to
do what is needed
still clinging to the idea
of fairness and nobility
of messages reduced to
fourteen lines
with strict rhyme.