She sits in the rubble of her home.
Huge brown eyes watch
as the glorious dead are counted.
The horseman doesn't ask her name
His friend is pleased to see
that some of the unnumbered
civilian casualties
are already tainting the water supply,
and adding to their brother's work
(He's busily cheering on the soldiers
who've left their tanks of chemicals
leeching into local fields).
The fourth horseman will be along later for her.
They'll all be skin and bone together.
Without a count it all goes round again
No-one will lay poppies.
© LMC 2008
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