11 November 2011

For Remembrance Day

Because I can't imagine what war is like, and I'm grateful to those who have given me that luxury.

I’m sitting here comfortably, sipping my tea,
Watching the sway of the neighbour’s gum tree.
I’m not getting shot. I have no foot rot.
It’s nice.

The kids are at day care, I’m working from home;
The hours tick by like a hushed metronome.
I’m not in a pit of man-meat and shit.
It’s nice.

The jasmine is starting to bloom in the yard,
Festooned with soft silk on which spiders stand guard.
No homeward-bent yearning. No buildings are burning.
It’s nice.

The beds are all made and the washing is done,
The peg-puckered towels wave like flags in the sun.
My stumps haven’t bled. My friends aren’t all dead.
It’s nice.

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