On a dead soldier who sees his body in a garbage truck

I believe that most of what I write are dedications. It’s always to someone known or unknown. Here’s part of a poem to an unknown soldier.



After the fighting

I come to terms

With my story


Buttery dough my mother

Feline grace my wife

My child


That stretches me.


I wasn’t prepared in all honesty

The academy didn’t teach us this.


There was an outcry about my body

I looked on at the din

A circle of breath around my rot

Orgasms for bees and rodents


Now I am food.


© neelthemuse,2011

Posted in: Day to day

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5 thoughts on “On a dead soldier who sees his body in a garbage truck Leave a comment

  1. Painful, beautiful, painful. I returned to this subject myself recently, but it’ll be a while before I post it. A big influence on me when I was about 18 was a collection of British First World War poets – Owen, Sassoon, Blunden, Graves and many not famous perhaps because they died too soon. To this I added Rosenberg, who was much ignored till a more recent time and now again. I was taught the history of the period by a man whose father had been gassed in the trenches (and survived): he brought it painfully alive.

  2. Thank you Simon…..look forward to reading your account of the miserable soldier. The worst part is that this poem is based on a recent event of a soldier who is not given his dues.

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