And then there were two

For a few years there were three of them –Three brothers pensioned off from theWorking world, free to ignore theCruel clock with its inhuman face.And so they would walk, burdened byA rucksack apiece and the weightOf a past, shared and divided.For a time, all was well –But then – a worm burying its wayInto one brother’s head, already infectedBy a corruption hidden from the light.

And so, as the weeks go by he chants,Like a Greek Chorus, a refrainHe barely understands:‘It has to go down the line.’His older brother’s son has no son.Grandfather’s medal won on theKilling fields of France must be ownedBy a man bearing the same name –‘It has to go down the line.’

There is no way he will compromise –It has to go down the line,So he will not walk in a trio –One shadow would darken his lifeAnd meaning would slip awayLike a landslide and leave him -Slipping and sliding on barren earth.