A Fair Question

‘But where will you be?’I was driving when Roman put the question.The twins were in their safety seatsChatting and laughing, bubbly six year olds.I had been telling them about the NormansWho stole the land and demoted the language.‘Old English became ‘’rude speech’’ you see.’‘Like bum and poo you mean grandad?’Their laughter fills the car like super fuelWhich boosts a boring journey.‘No Cole’, said grandma tut tutting.’

The twins will be impossibly old, fifty eight,When a thousand years has passed sinceThat day when William the bastardTurned Saxon land into waste.‘You’ll be there boys at the anniversary,But of course, we won’t be.’And then the question and the puzzled tone.I glance in the mirror wondering what to sayWhen I remember Prince Andrei atThe Battle of Borodino staring at any empty sky -‘Tomorrow, I will no longer be.’

Simple words which carry the weight of the world –A burden Atlas could never have known.But he was a Titan amongst men, a godDestined never to know the dread of a last tomorrow.Men though have always lived in fear and sorrow,Perplexed by the nothing they will become.‘But where will you be?’ I sense hisBewilderment in the face of a frightening fact.Perhaps, Roman, you can watch the flameOf a candle caught by the unthinking wind –And wonder just where it’s gone.