Tour of the European Battle-fields
by John Grey


Hard to believe that sixty years ago,
these people were killing us.
I must be buying bread and cheese
from bloody hands.
I'm humming along to the song
death hums.
We're a forgive and forget kind
of people for as long as
the architecture is appealing,
and the giant framed basso
leans out a high window
and hits every note.
I wander through a garden
of statues of warriors,
look at the stone eyes,
the marble lips, the sculptured
swords in their scabbard.
War's got wild flowers
knocking on its knees,
pigeon shit scarring its toe-nails.
Soon enough, we all survive.


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