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Our lady on the wall selling poppies for Our Boys. Our price. Our choice. |
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we bought one-watched Our Lady fly confetti fly the city die in flames as |
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tanks spat amber at the Odeon. A soldier on the podium. One leg, a face |
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that's splashed with egg... a roadmap stained by cherry brandy, cracking |
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jokes about The Jerry. And we snatched his helmet, pissed and blew our |
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whistles with the steam. The kettle boiling, so we stamped and screamed for |
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China tea. We're playing Shanghai in the cloisters, sucking oysters, dipping |
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fingers, finding pearls the size of avacado pears. The treasure's there - a |
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shame there's nowhere left to spend it... Shall we share the powdered milk |
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and wait for God? |
