Sunday, 12 September 2010

Poem a day, 12: September 12th 2010

The war photographer
figment in the eye for
the shell-shocked marine
the open-mouthed grieving wife
the running Greek rebel
the starving boy with the empty tin.
They never hear the camera click
for mortars screams bullets rumbling stomach
and we never see the man.
But I can imagine him weathered
by all he has seen, smelt, heard, and felt
changing in front of these people
who don’t notice him.

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