Frank McHugh

Posted on Remembrance Sunday
le pendu.

There are no pens that would right today
Sadness blunts my pencil to a twig
Tears tack my pages fast

It is not the time to write, to pull
Worn clichés out of a woolly hat
To try and do him justice

In time, the pen will bleed right words
The pencil will scrape proper runes
To shape the memories

But not now. Now is for raw feeling
To make shapeless words which guess
At how the cards

will eventually

fall.