Chasing The Medusa (For Don McCullin)
Chasing The Medusa (For Don McCullin)
A small boy out hunting
Over the bombsites of London
Climbs to the top of mountains
Of fallen brick rubble
In search of scraps of metal
And the precious tin foil
That is dropped by the Germans
As if by special favour.
Passing through mourners
Who stand with torn fingers
Ignoring signs of DANGER
Taking no heed of WARNING
Scraping skin from frozen knees
Tearing holes in his clothing
He saves up the coppers
For a pie or chip supper
London's filth and grime
A playground to his wandering
Curious mind
And sensitive thinking
In a brave beleaguered land
Of defiant mothers
Who stick up their fingers
At Hitler and his buggers
And keep hold of their sons
Lest they follow their fathers
And while under siege
Share bread with one another
One night the boy in secret
Heard his parents talking
How his father had just met with
A local fire warden
Who was carrying a bucket
With a woman's decapitated head in it
He said in case her family
Should wish to bury something.
Her gaping mouth and eyes staring up from the abyss
Later, in Biafra when those thin
Albino fingers
Reached out to touch yours
Breaking your heart forever
And in Vietnam
Between two dead soldiers
As you lay cradling your camera
Searching for some cover
Did you know even then
That you were chasing the medusa?
Her gaping mouth and eyes
Staring up from the abyss
You have revealed the pain
Of world-wide grieving mothers
On the bombsites of the planet
From Beirut to Northern Ireland
And their war is your war
Their suffering is mirrored
In a memory of your first war
Which took away your innocence
Some say you have a death wish
No I say, without rest
You are a slayer of demons
An army against death
Endymion 2006