Far Afield

In this strategic somewhere Battalions marched to nowhere Keeping peace in face of dragons Concealed in the foothills. Tiger tracks in sand vanish As though sucked into oblivion, Wiped out by desert storms And the unforgiving winds. Dear Whoever letters mailed To post-boxes, obliviously, telling Of whirlybird crashes And the charred dead remains. Friendly fire a misnomer, Murderous justification spun, Revving propaganda engines And wheels within wheels, etc. We regret to inform The child you bore and nurtured Is unrecognisable to the eye And like a tarmac jigsaw. He’ll no doubt be sent back to you Boxed in something smaller, So you may burn again his bones In a ceremony of your choice. Some mandarin pontiff bids And bidding is done remotely, Far afield where life is spent As though to burn.