There go our boys

Creeping. Dropping. Signalling. Stopping.
Gun bearing, black clothed strangers invade our town.

Creeping. Dropping. Signalling. Stopping.
Green beret wearing friends defend our homes.

Concern silenced parents stare at the radio
in hope of hearing hope.

Concern subdued youngsters drift from room to room
searching for distraction.

Cat sleeps on.
White flag carrying Matron Mum summoned to hospital.
Cautiously walking through recently silenced street battle zone.
Much work awaits our very own Florence.

Rattling, Squealing, Crunching, Grinding
Tanklike monsters growl along our gentle streets

Sky: noisily filled with unfamiliar craft
Heads: filled with unfamiliar feelings. Fear and Shock.

Poultry need feeding
All present and accounted for, hens hungrily peck and gobble,
oblivious to the invading madness.

Lifeless. Facedown in the roadside gulley,
one mother’s precious son won’t return home.

Royal Marine prisoners. Family friends.
Inwardly defiant. Standing proud. Herded away.
Sister cries. Dad sighs “there go our boys”.


Rachel Simons