the Battle for Cain

the old diesel engine
rambled along

pistons squeaking
dust on metal grease

feeling each ditch
shocking the kidneys

but we do not mind
because we are going home

forward daft stares
slug silence

not speaking
humor or horror

they drove us out
of burning Caen

duck and dive spirits
left between the ruins

that afternoon a century
passed and it rained

creating bloody muddy mortar

of Tommies, Jerries

and that desert turf we
fought on

poem by Martin Lochner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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