Alfred Went to War
by Clark Cook
this man
shrugged casually
with all the other
smooth young men
who yawned their
eager eyesooooto war
then died in
bloodsoaked
snow and mud
witnessed
by frozen blank-eyed horses
oooused
the day before
to haul their bone racks
to the clapboard and tin
field hospitals
for
rehabilitation
after millions
slaughtered,
the generals met
oooodeclaredooo a winner
oooocellaredooo their fine wines and trophies
ooootoldooo the remaining young men
to go ooohome
important old men
bellies and Medals
regretted the inconvenience
but none said
‘Thank You’
to the few remaining
oooooimportant old men
ooooohate the echote the echo
oooooof their words
oooooin empty rooms
this man went home as casually as he left
the town threw a parade with
balloons and a band
cheerleaders and speeches
and sally wilson did-him-standing-up
behind City Hall
under a huge
orange harvest moon
all he remembered was the balloons
he tried to grasp
why he’d gone away
they told him it was for
freedom
and country
and honour
all he remembered was
the blood-bite of razor wire
ooothe swirl of metallic bile
oooin his mouth
the dulling weight
of his own skin
dragging him into
the constant ooze
oooooooobelow
This man went away a casual boy
came back a broken casual toy
in a man’s body
dreaming through the parade,
the speeches
d r e a m i n g
mostly about balloons
drifting in magic and laughter
rippling like slow-dragged silk across the
shattered fields and broken hopes
lying
on the brocade couch
in the General’s
ooooooooplanning room
© clark cook
2014
About the author:
Clark Cook talked about literature with Canadian university students for over 30 years, and was actually paid to have so much fun. Retired now, he writes (mostly) poetry and fiction (working on two novels). His poetry has been awarded three first-prizes in publishers’ competitions since 2014. Clark’s poetry weaves through the great myths, memories, and landscape on threads of image and metaphor to open potential new ways of Seeing for his readers. Maybe. If everything’s working. The poet and a son’s family co-occupy a home in the Vancouver area.