Taken Out of the Fight

Four sit on a bench by Hartlepool War Memorial,

trying to look busy and failing. The sheer

embarrassment at their unemployment and

inactivity pasted crudely on their acne-ridden

faces and longing stares, as I walk past.

A few paces away, the red borough council

building, where earlier I had heard plans from

the mouth of the chief executive, hopeful

of change, realistic that town rejuvenation 

would take time. As I exited, these four were

of course still there, an hour later, one for all,

and, if they remembered, all for one, beside

a monument to struggle, another form of work

to fight and die for thy neighbour, thy country.

But the fight had been taken out of these four.