Comments about Andrew McEwan
I’ve been here for a while now,
Can’t remember when I came.
The men? Dog tired, so am I,
In the featureless land that all seems same
Bombardment’s heavy. Shells,
Fall like spring rain, but
Water nothing, cultivating death,
Ploughing up land and men as one
Who have I lost? Smith, Johnson - both shells.
Mead, a bullet through the parapet
A slow, gargling, choking death
I remember that. One of many.
Who, Rasping bloodily for his mother,
Died terribly. But I’m lost too. I don’t know,
Why I’m here, What we fight for,
Blindfolded we ...