*So for the contest we had to personify a bed, and here's my shot.
We lined to attention, on
polished floors and covered in clean sheets,
to greet the mourners.
Broken boys in glazed shells,
empty eyes and muddy faces.
Shaking me to the very core.
Brisk girls with rosy cheeks
bow their heads, roll up sleeves.
Scrub off the muck.
A dose of medicine and crisp
pyjamas. Blue striped.
Open the windows,
air the smell of death
off their sweaty skin,
come on now, less of that,
we won’t have any tears here.
There’s a good boy.
The unlucky one’s stayed to
be tossed confusedly,
between dreams of their
girl standing in a field of poppies,
only to be filled with blackened
bodies and ravaged earth,
swallowing their sweethearts.
Most of them made me
their first grave.
So I held them in my arms
And rocked them to a better dream.
There, there Robbie.
There, there Tom.
We’ll find you another
place to live in, a hole.
Better than a trench,
One with less dirty glory.
The gaping one in your soul.
