It all came crashing down around us
Someone had to fire the first shot
He wasn’t happy
You killed him, that’s all wrong
The first shot is always a warning, it’s war etiquette
So strange, mother would have loved him, he had manners
God, she would say, you eat like an animal, use your knife and fork
Football mum, need to rush, big game today, come and watch us, it’s life and death
They wanted our piece of the hill
We wanted their piece of the hill
Rush, rush, take the hill, how many bullets can you kill
He wants to talk to them, Mr etiquette
You would be proud of him mum
So Polite
They shot him like a dog
Rush, rush, take the hill, how many bullets can you kill
We killed them all
It’s now our hill
Did you see me, mum, did you see me score
Were you too busy with your other son..
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Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 12th, 2025 06:12
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
A beautiful poem set with the contrast of childhood games and war as an adult game. Competition from youth to old age always having to be the one that wins. And in the end with rules neglected etiquette denied just to win one is not noticed and forgotten having given their all and all for nothing a few yards in a game a score not to be remembered. A life wasted. Loved the use of table manners and etiquette as a precursor to etiquette of war ignored. Very nicely written and a fave
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