The Last Soldier

The Last Soldier

Between a conception
and a crawling birth
Is the ovation
for an ideologues Earth

The swinging triumph of hope
over a misremembered reality
A moisturising soft soap
of heedless, uncaring rationality

So, he’s finally dead
this enemy’s damned head
Shot off. He’ll not laugh
now, nevermore, nor need a bath

Except for a last cold shower
in the icy parlour
Before Valhalla
buffing & cleaning his lost wan allure

To a lead-headed face caught in the
surprise of expected death
Stoppage of sweet breath
there’ll no more be breaking of his bread

Mourn. For here we are led.
In Sarajevo, for sure,
The last archduke is shot;

And not one more war
Will be bred.
We have Crimes to try – God wot.

Du-DAH! the last soldier cries
then while the judges retire
He guesses he’s won
fires the last bullet from the last gun

Into his skull and - crossbones -
hence, no more symbols
Making the late editions
of the City finals

Between an inception
and a howling man
Is the ovation
for an iconoclast’s plan.

D I Harrison
20 March 1993 / revised September 2013