How to find the Falkland Islands
You carry yourself like peat in Port Stanley air
the authorial eye writes a hundred facial lines
these are the new trenches frozen under fire.
Have you ever seen a field of wool and knitted limbs?
Itís not how many die but how they die over in the mind
all my friends say so much yet they say nothing.
I have something to say but will keep it locked
do you know why war air is made of black dots
it is flies who sing above the reeking fallen, glory be.
Ken left no note, I get that he was already gone
he moved like an Argentinian tango under fire
a scripted rejection in the Job centre killed him.
We used to laugh at penguins falling over as jets went overhead
they would look at the unnatural as far as their heads bent back
it was the weight that took them over, I know that weight well.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Antony Owen
would be pleased to hear them.