poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

'We were killing pigs when the 
Yanks arrived.
A Tuesday morning, sunlight
and gutter-blood
Outside the slaughter house.
>From the main road
They would have heard the screaming,
Then heard it stop and had a view of us 
In our gloves and aprons coming
down the hill.
Two lines of them, guns on their 
shoulders, marching.
Armoured cars and tanks and open jeeps.
Sunburnt hands and arms.
Unarmed, in step,
Hosting for Normandy.
Not that we knew then
Where they were headed, standing
there like youngsters
As they tossed us gum and tubes of
coloured sweets'


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Added: 5 May 2003 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 11:58 PM | Viewed: 9753 times

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