Remember

I remember cold November days

standing at the cenotaph wondering why

adults wanted to keep such dreary thoughts.

Thoughts of death and war and darkness

in their minds.

Bored with old guys in berets

and taps

and smarmy looking boy scouts looking way too important

laying wreaths.

Only for a moment I would let my dad's brother enter my mind.

A man, a boy really, that I'd never met

for a moment on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

Lest we forget

was crazy to me.

I thought it should be

lest we not forget.

Only for a moment I would let my dad's brother enter my mind.

A man, a boy really, that I'd never met 

for a moment on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

Later, I was a hippy

and thought celebrating war, governments, countries

was a big mistake.

I wanted to celebrate peace, anarchy, the planet.

Only for a moment I would let my dad's brother enter my mind.

A man, a boy really, that I'd never met

for a moment on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

Now I am three times the age he reached

when the plane he navigated spiralled down

somewhere over somewhere.

Three times the age of my Dad - boy pilot, three times the ages

of all those boys and girls who lost their lives

or their something - their trust, their goofy innocence anyway.

Today I will go to the cenotaph in a distant town

And I'll stand and watch the parade of wreaths, the marching old guys,

the lonesome trumpet sound against

the bare trees, against the grey sky.

my poppy thrown down with the others.

Only for a moment I will let my dad's brother enter my mind.

A man, a boy really, that I'd never met

for a moment on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

Thank you Dad, thank you Baldy, thank you Arlo, thank you so much - all of you boys and girls in arms.