The Boys

See all the dead here,
laid in rows.

Alive they splayed out,
with cousins and aunts,
across summer lawns
and sandy beaches,
cricket balls and picnic baskets
strewn in their wake.

They spewed after parties
and squabbled with mates,
told lies to girlfriends,
cheered at the rugby,
ignored the elections
and moaned about taxes.

But here they are tidy,
stacked toes to nose,
as each dawn parade passes
beneath skies bled with rose.