The last bulletts David Cattanach

David Cattanach

The last bullets are for you Plugging into the flesh Running away That’s how the news reported

Mown down by the fire The hot barrels smoking Feathers of passing birds Floated down

Doors opened, shutters untied Flags were raised Dogs ran from the houses Children brought out kites

They had passed through Armies of the desert Leaving scent trails of gasoline Plumes from the burning rose

Were they gone forever The heavy boots of soldiers? We walked with soft shoes Ploughing our fields, agriculture returned

Soon we had cleared the mines Setting down feasting blankets Swimming in the warm waters Of rivers that seeped into the horizon

The dust clouds of their heavy machines Had settled long ago and now swallows came With swift flight Over the golden ears of corn

We thought that our windows Should be opened To the morning call Of larks

That we could melt the last bullets And form them into weather vanes They would spin attracting light From every rooftop