Descent

artwork by alexiuss


Descent


by Alan Jenkins

...when suddenly out of that lake of blood
And plasma and the seepings of old sores
And indistinct stuff, rotted flesh and mud
And floatings of chemical froth, the spores
From carrion-flowers,
the bandages that dressed
Deep-tissue wounds acquired in recent wars,
Moment-of-death evacuations (deliquesced),
The slippery insides of bodies cut in two,
Brain-matter, bits of muscle and the rest -
Three bubble-streams rose up;
then from this stew
Appeared, slime-covered, plop plop plop,
three heads,
All familiar. Each seemed about to spew
But more muck filled their open mouths,
and threads
Of mucus clung and dripped from them as all
Were forced to swallow back
those strange sweetbreads.
And so their words came thickly
through a wall
Of vile breath and the noises that each made
In struggling to be heard: "I [burp]
now call
On our great nation, and the mighty shade
Of Winston ... [awk!] Churchill [blurp] ...
I mean, look ..."
"Perhaps you dickheads think" -
a fierce tirade
Came now from his confrere -
"that this [blurf. Flook!]
War will be some kind - of fucking - picnic -
Though we could just make out a Don!
or Dick!
Among his snarls of petulant disdain
And "DON'T MISUNDERESTIMATE ME" (sic)
He shrieked, futilely fending off a rain
Of liquid shit expelled in passing by
A bony old man with a baggy stain
For underpants, long matted beard, wild eye.
"To satisfy their vanity", my guide said,
A million, two million forsaken had to die.
Now they must squabble in this place instead,
But no lies they repeat will justify
Their crimes, or earn forgiveness from the dead ... "


Posted over on Guardian, UK