• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 10
Image by

Mower / Military Pack, after Philip Larkin’s ‘The Mower’

The car stalled, twice. Swearing, I saw
The soldier, lolling grimly on the kerb,
Dead. They’d shot him in the long grass.

I had seen him before, and even known the boy.
Now steel had mauled his unbelieving face
Irreparably. Burial was no help:

Today I drive on, he lies there still.
One more day, more dead, this new absence
Passes without note. We should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.