I ride down
the hill to the hospital
In the
ambulance,
That follows
the hearse,
Wondering which
vehicle
Will take me
home again.
The needle
enters the arthritic knee,
Steroid and
painkiller are pumped in.
The invasion
crosses the border
And there is
no anaesthetic for that.
I am old and
After an
uneventful life
One part of
my body after another
Starts to fail,
But I have
the consolation of knowing,
That I have
never ordered younger people
To go out
and fight and die.
