War Cry

Those old words slime again from the sewers
drag themselves erect, clothed in shining apparel
as though they descend from holy places.

Formed up in drill-ranked sentences
brandishing swords of justice:
Follow me into battle.

Down to the river to be baptised.
Come back with polio and cholera
creeping in your veins.

Behind the burnished copper shields of rhetoric
march ranks of boys with faces burned away
mothers with their hearts clawed from their bodies
ghost babies never to be conceived.

Follow me into battle
Down to the river to be baptised.

War cry
war crimes
war cries.