Talking about duty

I wish you would talk about something other than duty
I wish you wouldn’t march up and down outside your guard box

I come and go with my handcart heaped up with things
There is space to be examined; there is time to be dismantled

I pass in and out of your checkpoint, my old soldier’ess
With stolen art; with stolen ballerinas

Stand to attention – atten – shun
The town clock rolls by chased by the village children

What’s in your eyes now I wonder
How they stand by themselves outside the gate

I pass by again riding on a scooter
And again in the opposite direction on roller skates

Even the sun salutes you as it passes by
Even the birds stop their flight and obediently waddle across your outpost

Look at what I have, stop and search me
There’s nothing but an empty life in a crown of thorns

There’s nothing but a cardboard box full of first class air

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