When they brought me home,
Barbecued,
With the smell
Of rationed kerosene in the air,
You gave me space
In the morning paper
That found its way
Later,
Around a poly cotton blouse
From the local tailor.
The fire had covered the bruises
And you covered the rest.
You, who hardly knew me,
Spun my yarn and sang it
With proper sighs
And yawning pauses,
The horror and bane
Tearing through
Dramatically dilated pupils,
The wretchedness and pain
Drenching your sleeves
From onion-stinking eyes.
But.....
Had I dared to come back alive....
I would have lived my story
While you,You would have scribbled
A moral on my back
