A tank trundles past and into the trees -
And disappears quickly out of sight,
And there's no-one round who sees
The tiny and flickering prick of light.
Some soldiers pass, running at a trot
And yet still no notice is shown
The soldier lying on the ground is no longer hot
And from his lips escapes a moan.
He has what every poet hates, in spite
Of all the loneliness and devastation.
Oh, Alexander Selkirk knew the night
And the dark and cold and no circulation.
Lying at a tank track, but no-one sees the ring
His broken body and every bleeding thing.
This poem is a parody, of sorts, of a very famous Patrick Kavanagh poem, Inniskeen Road : July Evening, which can be read here.
Re-posted from the old johnl.org