by John Huey
Seldom was a man stripped down this way,
Laid out while still alive on a slab of his
Beauty translucent as his skin got tighter
wrapping his face in contortions as a personal
center was opened and dropped in the Liverpool
mud, the war hardly over, still raging loudly
in the child’s veins while pounding out the
poverty and ruptured schoolboy dreams
saved by an aunt who cared for him.
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