Remembrance Day
It is a lie to think boys sent to the front lines
were willing to sacrifice their un-lived lives
to win something they didn’t plan.
It was assumed for them.
The pecking order barked out rules—no options
once you signed. You were a prop for the gun
and you couldn’t even choose where or when to shit.
You started out honourable—just learned how
to shave, found camaraderie among others
who wanted to be men not given the white feather
from village wives.
If being a man means living up
to others’ expectations with your face
new to the razor blade, limbs looking for love
mind questioning the fraction of a unit
you had become for some purpose
never revealed to you—does it mean you proved it?
I want you to know, even though it’s too late
that I love you, and your virgin heart.
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