Civil

Dead men in the back of trucks –
Sometimes thrown in there by friends –
Sometimes not; hands bound.

Always though, lit by a low light –
Syria, Bosnia, Cork: the same light-
Like a Dogme film; the light of ’95.

Dead men in the backs of trucks –
Blood brown and crusty, they still look –
Like they might move, but for the smell.

Who were you, Brother, Father, Son?
and for what have you ended up –
in the back of a truck?

Whether a Coriolanus, or the most unknown –
They all look the same in the back of the truck.
Good men on all sides, they deserve better.

Published by

duncancleary

A native of Dublin, Ireland. When not busy with work or family, I try to create new stuff using words and pictures, often with a scientific theme. Thanks for visiting.

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