11.11.11
Cataracts of poppies pour into parks
And public spaces. The not forgetting
Has become a theatrical setting
Where the performance of remembrance lurks.
Pieties are preached, lone bagpipes skirled,
The Last Post bugled, cadets paraded.
All observe silence, even the jaded
Are restrained from pointing out how the world
Hasn’t seen war ended, despite the fallen;
Age didn’t wither them, but machine guns did.
National capitals continue to collide,
Yet, should the ranks of workers think again,
Then they might transcend borders that divide
And spurn futility of national pride.
D. A.