Sid slumped at his feet
bubble of spittle, blood washed
grew from loose-jawed mouth

With stub of pencil
he crossed the black book of names
one more page, death full

Random shots rang out
across the barbed wire line, death
or self-death, unmarked

His mind slipped to a
vivacious mademoiselle
his boys never knew

And as rats ransack
the flesh, of his dying men
he scribed his own name