All of the names of the dead are Celtic

or English. Most of them died – in the prison

near the river -  from typhoid rather than wounds.

Nobody set out to be cruel – farmers’

sons killing farmers’ sons. Their graveyard

above the bluffs was grassed, an obelisk built,

their names cast in bronze, bolted to limestone.

From the highway, there is no signage.

Eagles winter on the  bluffs. America’s heart

is green and fecund: a confluence -

Illinois, Missouri, Mississippi.

watching their comrades,

the ensign, the corporal and the private

shot by firing squad

amongst the elms in the graveyard below.

Under the leaves in the summer,

Cromwell’s New Model Army

was practising democracy,

selecting all ranks for exemplary death -

the only leveller.