Mennen to Menin

(By Sil, the 31st of August, 2011, Ypres, Belgium)

The road to Menin
A tongue of tarmac
Lashing out
From the jaws of a town
Hiding old scars
With new brick

Gub is looking for graves
I am looking for poppies
But they do not grow
As the poet had promised
Instead corn plants
Frozen in the sun
Huddle together
Proud soldiers
Cradling unripe grenades

We get lost in this La Mancha
Of farms yielding men
Unknown in death
They say God knows who they are
As if He was the
Score-sheet keeper
In a child’s game of strategy
The silent reaper
Of souls

History hides
In the fat man’s back garden
Hoarder of contorted metal
Peep-show ringmaster
We pay to enter
What others prayed to exit
On Hill 62 the earth
Is a wound not allowed to heal
A specimen displayed
For specialized appeal

Back in the fields
Flemish farmers seed for winter
They spray with muck
Turn on the track
And leave the dead to feed
The crops of the living