For Srebrenica

In comes the boy, trolley in tow.
More goods for the shelf.
Its early morning, doors opening soon,
not a moment to lose.

Running out of space, push some to the back.
Check the bar codes, scanners must work.
Nothing worse than getting the wrong item,
always consumes time.
Management start to flood in,
normal talk: “Not enough money”,
“Need to advertise”, “Another photo shoot.”
“Can we clear the shelves today?”
“We’ll try, depends on business.”

Here they come, tissues in hand,
Mum led in by Grandpa.
Two packages taken off a shelf,
management lays out the goods.
Mum’s life in these broken shards,
memories, happy memories.

Football, smiles, cries, running to the woods.
Soldiers follow, rifles in hand.
Screams, terrifying screams.
Gunshots.
Silence.

Mum checks the clothes department,
finds the shirts she bought years before.
They’re dirty now, covered in holes.
In scans the barcode, correlation made.
Mum’s life in these broken shards,
of the two boys she gave birth to.
All that’s left.

Grief complete, leaves the store.
Two down, 9998 to go.
All in memorium,
For Srebrenica.