Big boys and guns.

"Catastrophe."
whisper kids,
with pale candles,
no longer playing
in our street

and they knew
of you
as a boy, as a man
kicking balls
filled with fury

no fear,
no fear.

and they knew
of a soldier
and a lonely, little wife
cooking for one
on a blackened stove
late into the evening.

disintegrate
in the wings,
in the sidelines
where we know nothing
of your name
or your face
covered in the British flag

your not welcome
here
anymore
when they bring you home
for you shouldn't have
gone.
No, you should not have left me here.

and the sprites won't remember
you as a kid, as a man
kicking balls
filled with fury
ready and willing
to die at their side
because you were too busy dying
at someone else's.