Armistice Day

At the going down of the sun, we will remember.

And then, when the sun has set and the neon lights

Are flashing the gospel of discontent, we forget.

The night comes alive as the bars spill out

And the drunken girls sprawl, inelegantly, in the gutter.

The flashing blue lights sweep the streets

And clash and fight with the neon of the clubs.

And then comes the silent night, as dawn strokes

Pink-gold tendrils over the discarded bottles,

And the pools of vomit. But when the sun went down,

Well, then, for a moment, we remembered them.

(c) 2ndwitch, 14/11/11