Holy Grail - Poem by Anthony Weir
At the cenotaphs
the holders and the representatives of power,
the generals, the admirals, the air-vice-marshals
pretend to mourn
the powerless that their predecessors murdered
by proxy as dictators also do
through words like Glory and Defence
and Fatherland and Honour
and Western Way-of-life - which we've now reduced to lifestyle.
Masters of claptrap, they call
but horses are the inevitably-unsung heroes
the unremembered victims
before replacement by the tank
and the Holy Grail is in the basement of a bank.
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