UXB

UXB

They were digging in the suburbs,
part leafy, part graffiti,
a hole in an old Kent road,
when they found a metal remnant
of a war they'd all heard of,
but never prodded up to now
with the sharpness of a spade.

Accompanied by swearing,
the discoverer's monkey alarm,
the crater was vacated
for their van where they felt safe
from this brief exchange with danger,
and argued what to do
over mobile phones and fags.

An old man, who'd witnessed this explosion
and recognised the panic
walked slowly to the hole,
peered down at the dormant enemy,
remembered the nightly rain
when everyone was thrown together,
and a thousand holes that crashed their lives apart.

"Look at that stupid old git".
The van window hummed down.
"Oi mate, there's a bomb in there,
we've called the Old Bill".
The old man focussed on the ring-pierced face
so ugly to his generation;
he started to walk over.

On the way he tried to see
the attitude behind the eyes of his addressor
whose hand tapped the rhythm of a CD within.
A burst of laughter rang out
from the workman's mates,
his face wore a smirk as finally
the old man reached the van.

"I was in the RAF", he lied.
"If that goes off you'll all be history".
The window wound up swiftly
and the old man watched the modern world
reverse unceremoniously up the road.
"V for victory", he said to himself,
returning to the hole again to re-ignite the past.