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Missing, 1918-2018

I am anonymous archaeology
In the fields of Flanders,
My shell-stripped bones
Are scattered compass points
Marking buried horizons with
Shards of silent remembrance.

My eye orbit looks back at
Myself as an eager volunteer,
Proud and cocky like the boy
I once was, running
Through the cruel armour
Of summer pastures.

My upper jaw chatters patriotically
As it did in the King's Arms,
Hark the bell for last orders,
'Time gentlemen please',
My lower jaw chatters nervously
As it did before going over the top,
Hark the whistle for last orders,
'Time gentlemen please'.

My forefinger points to searchers
Looking for names and clues
In the ley lines and on the
Bleached standing stones,
Where is the lost civilisation
They ask?

They ask
And I cannot tell them.

I am anonymous archaeology
In the fields of Flanders.

Poetry by Christopher Fernie