No Man's Land Poem by Mark Heathcote

Trenches go down; the barbwire
comes up along the colonnade
there are times it seems someone
has thrown a hand grenade
dead centre of your heart and
truly it has detonated
leaving you stuck deep
in no man's land, desolated
with barely anything to retrieve;
we're holding an arm
or a leg, waving it high
shouting loudly I'll disarm
look I'm waving my bloody white flag,
I love you, you know
let's call a ceasefire
I'll surrender - no more tallyho!