Bitten

Too young to question, my society
as we heard the bombers drone    
huddled cold and cramped, listened for the distant thud  
hot ash melting holes, in the soft white snow  
as brave, as brave could be, sitting on my mothers knee  
   
And I still feel the pangs of hunger    
like a gulls harsh call  
its urgency, for that alarm cannot be stalled  
borne the cross that gnaws, and dreamed    
of the Golden Arches    
   
The potholed road in Sarajevo's hell  
at the end of snipers alley  
I dreamed. as dusty masonry fell  
the dream of manna in a bun  
and the life before atrocities begun