Advice From An Old Warrior Poem by Mark Christmas

Spewing into the aisles of the Roxy
to watch ‘Groundhog Day’ but this
is not the Hollywood version, with its glitz
and glamorous stars, this is my version with
no parallax in time, just the here, the now.

The reel clicks into life, once more my eyes
make me taste the ripening, putrid bodies that
soak up the noon day heat. I sample the copper
flavoured shake on my lips. Taste buds explode
with the sensation of bodily waste fermented with

a tinge of cordite on the sweaty, warm air.
End of the reel, the projectionist refits
a new one but for me it’s not original,
it’s the same one, same ending, if it
ever does? Same terrifyingly, intrusive past.

Each moon rise I raise the shutters, turn the latch
key in hope, to keep the demonic past locked
out. Tonight, however, the sedative will man the
defence barricades, to subdue the advancing hoards
of relentless memories that threaten to over-run.

Tonight, I am prepared to wave
my white flag to them, in a last
unenviable hope the assaults
will cease. Though there is little optimism
left as these adversaries,
take ‘no prisoners’.


Based on an article by Gene Ladnier,
previously published in Poems of the Poppies.