An unforgiving thick, black font
blares out a message through time.
Men with rosettes,
well wrapped up, safe and smug,
show their faces and smile.
They are thinking of nobody in particular.
People fought and died for this.
A list of humanity
crossed through one by one.
Numbers, names, roads, hearts.
A stumpy pencil tied to a string.
The worn edges
of a battered old black box.
It is time to make your cross.