Poetry by Lawrence Witt
This little man has no face at all;
he went down in his fighter plane,
reddened the sea, awoke
sitting savouring real Heinz beans
with a father and mother
in Surry, some fifty years later,
the slurs for the Japanese bombs
tripping out between mouthfuls
he says, poor Ted would’ve loved,
but they got him and
far as he knows he’s alone in this.
About the Poet
Lawrence is an English teacher in training, from Canterbury in the UK, with a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. He has been writing poetry with varying degrees of intensity for the past eight years, and is now beginning to seek publication.