Look-look

A bird sings songs after a shelling

as though the air was still safe

and my position in the trench

dug out from mud and men

wasn’t compromised by the bird’s chattering

and its look-looking my way

to see if I would attack it

though I seem a friend

and there’s been so much killing already

and so many friends killed

and the bird must be added

to the pile of stink and pet names

with a better flying beast

so that my position remains safe

from the mortars and more

without the heaviness of heaven

reigning down its creatures

to look-look after me

*

I do not blame you

like a rope cannot be blamed

for a lynching

but it burns all the same

*

Who remains

after you

and what remains

after me

and where are the remains

after us?