Four Poems

Soldier's Cup

(On a visit to the Tunnel Museum in Sarajevo)


Three thousand journeys daily through the slush,
but for the grunts and gasping, slupping hush.

Through water, knee deep, driving goats and sheep,
all tired of asking how long they must keep.

The moon haunts winter like an undead sun, snow falls on the
ruins...

The tunnel ran eight hundred metres long.
Down Sniper Alley death was quick to come.

Out came food and blankets, weapons, life;
their fearful, angry hopes received a spike.

Water freezes, soil stiffens, fear stays ever warm...
...