The War Photographer’s Son

From Mortal, my first collection of poems

The War Photographer’s Son

 

The moon’s a trigger

his torso mapped with scars

perimeters, and the stars

are for hunting by

in strange scimitar regions

his camera flies

while my mother curls

me on her lap

and cries

 

there is always Reuters

to rely on and the papers

we have the  old shrapnel

shards from netted stitches

trophies of an alien zone

maybe a  return

camouflaged with laurels

my mother  drops

the phone

 

the moon’s a shutter

its eye upon the dying boy

I feel for him/feel nothing

there is a part of me

that stalks the moonlit jungle

in big dusty boots

a nightmare up and  running

my father

loads the film and

shoots.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Veronica Aldous 2015 All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

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About Veronica Aldous

Writer and artist, Veronica is a lecturer is Fine Art and Creative Writing. Her first book of poems, 'Moon Cinema' is now available on Lulu.com. Now there is also 'Mortal' her second book.
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