Lockerbie Poem by Martin Lochner
Lockerbie
Waking from a bad dream,
the room breathes, whispers
the roll call of restless names;
phantoms looking for all sorts
of American bones and baggage
that once contained their lives.
Hearing the racket he closes the window,
sees the squawking crowds at the Palace gates
calling for the green lizard's cold blooded end,
chanting that wretched word
so long suppressed
Lockerbie! Lockerbie! Lockerbie!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/27/2024 10:47:43 AM # 1.0.0.1119
