See the walking dead

And the carcasses piled high

Like wood on bonfire night;

Clothes, shoes, hair and jewellery

Neatly stacked in separate heaps


Gaunt history staring us in the face


Confetti droning overhead

Gently napalming young bodies

Flesh peeling

Delta-Mekong dots on the map


Where’s Daddy?

Gone to fight the yellow man


Burning deserts erupting

Below technology-laden skies

Push-button warfare

Timed for peak viewing.


Blind killing-fields


Scorched earth, scorched body;

What’s the difference?

taken from my new collection of poetry ’67’  http://www.tinhuttalespublishers.co.uk/67/