Metal and Ribbons

Rubbing fingers over metal and ribbons,

memories do not bring gunfire, piss and panic:

just rhetoric, gabble and gung-ho

from the senior partners in the business.

Each and every one appreciated,

a single step on foreign soil rewarded.

Above the battlefield and bombast

war is reduced to direction-finding

and pin-pointing partisans or pashtuns

or true-believers or followers of Belial.

Each and every one obliterated,

a single grave in bomb-shelled soil afforded.

And for what? Whisper it low in corners,

victories do not bring glory, peace and profit:

just anarchy, chaos and cordite

from crazed survivors in the rubble.

Each and every one rejuvenated,

a single goal in bloodied soil engendered.

After the armistice and service,

some are reduced to benefit numbers

and door-blocking destitutes or dropouts

or high-street shouters or swallowers of Buckfast.

Each and every one untolerated,

a single stain on Albion’s soil rewarded.