Waitrose Man Poem by Edwin Hopper

Waitrose man in the supermarket isle,
drools a little on his regimental tie.
His thousand brand stare is a vacant smile.
He has no reason. No plan what to buy.

No regiment left, to say where to fight.
"Sir? Would you like help packing your bag? "
No family left to guide to the right.
"Sir? Sir? " No wife left with a friendly nag.

"Are you all right Sir? " He doesn't get far
Forgets all. Falls. Last peace, comes at last.
He's not drunk. He's dead, on the car park tar.
In Army HQ, his flag's at half mast.

School kids in history forget his name.
Until the next war it all stays the same.