#poetry – we played on bombsites –

we played on bombsites
broken bricks, rocks, black wood, iron bars, glass
from flattened Plymouth to wounded London
Hard evidence

At your funeral
the preacher told me to bow my head
wrath from above
and Ram Dass wanted me to sit down
not stand and watch

Just for a few minutes, no reason
I had a taste of how it was
no war
peace
that ache, as strong as ever
and then gone, no reason

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