On The 11th Hour Of The 11th Day Poem by Sharon Collins

On the 11th hour of the 11th Day
a heavy slab of meat,
he lay, dying at my feet,
at my feet, at my feet
covered in mud from the trench and the stench
just your luck, old boy, on the 11th Day
you valiantly lay
with eyes as lifeless as fish
the war ended and still you got it
you got it, you got it
With the revolver,
A mothers son,
Right in the head, in the head
a 15 year old dead
a strange arithmetic, life and death
no skill, no prayers avoid it
it, it, it was just your luck, old boy
on the 11th hour of the 11th day.

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