Can You Remember?

Can you?

Slim days and slim chance

of sensible behaviour.

Candlewax creases in uniform trousers,

square-bashing and square pegs

in round holes, round

and round the parade ground.

A twelvemonth learning another alphabet,

a mediaeval language for modern warfare.

“Knowledge is power”,

and other Master Sun-lite quotations

-as trite as hallmark rhymes-

pepper conversations.

“Knowledge is power,

but intelligence is guesswork.”

The Listeners’ ears

are pricked for war

and confuse the rattle

of sabres for the rumble

of tanks and jet-engines.

We plunged into the Divided City,

pockets bulging with easy money

dodging our own minders,

ignoring rules and minding

our own risky business.

Bars, cafés and “cabarets”

that made the rhinos,

spearmint or otherwise,

seem as tame as

the hedgeblown Parade

or Titbits found in childhood.

And the drink,

the endless, two-fisted,

macho, last-man-standing

boozefests.

Some won’t remember,

can you?