70.

The tanks watched, almost at war,

Bombs in mailboxes had blown, the stir

Of terror in the air, and we, in the car,

Moved on the way

And illusion had let a dew

Tinged with gunpowder. I recall

The photo of the high commissioner, ill

And gaunt, and flickering from the stale

Light the television image of the trunk

Where they had stuffed the dead minister.

My youth in these arpents, not sure

What the snow would bring on this far shore.