Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Poetry

It was only about two feet deep
Through Sand, Clay, and,
Long forgotton Twigs
It was our Foxhole,
My sister and I
We never fought so much as dug
No holding the Rhine
or fighting the cold war.

We were fighting the magic

The magic that pulls dirt back
into the hole you dig out
with stolen spoons
The magic that makes the mounds taller
as soon as your father says the word "fill"
And you clean off with a frozen hose

About two weeks passed with
The foxhole coverd
A Surrender flag planted
with stomped feet
And I traded my spoon for a spade
and dug a neat grave for
My guine pig
The first and last soldier
I was ever to lose

Yeas later I traded war games
And Violence for dust
And the thought of bones
Indiana Jones hats
and small paint brushes

As an acheologist
I searched the field
to find battle shards of
glass and rock
but never did I find the bones
of the unknown soldier
Time had taken him beyond me reach