Something back

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I first came across the following passage spoken over a track called "Something for the Mrs." by Old Man Gloom (in full: The Old Man Gloom Alien Simian Defense League), from the album "Christmas". It's bleak, I know, but it really struck me. I feel it could be somewhat prophetic, which scares me a little. With a little research I found out that it is in fact an excerpt from "Poem for Mary (Second Poem)" by Ernest Hemingway.

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"In the next war we shall bury the dead in cellophane
The host shall come packaged in every k-ration
The host shall come packaged in every k-ration
Every man shall be provided with a small but perfect Archbishop Spellman,
that shall be self inflatable (courteousy of air reduction, opened-closed-previous-opened-closed).

You don't need to repeat this, there is not any ceremony anymore.
Everyone is gone, and you say this out loud to yourself.
You were alone at the time, and the time now is always.
Always was a word you used in promises.
It is valueless.

All officers, warrant officers and enlisted men will be provided with a copy of their own true love,
that they will never see again, and all these copies will be returnable through the proper channels."

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Anyway, about a year and a half ago I decided to write a kind of response to it called "Something back". Enjoy...
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"Thirteen years ago, your body was wrapped in cellophane and dumped in a river

The telegram said you were buried with honour.

You were alone at the time. Having abandoned your post, you fled. The acute irony of it is, that if you had only stayed, you'd most likely still be alive - they never came that way.

But your collar reported you missing. Already dead, or deserter, it didn't matter to them.
If you were, perhaps you'd take some of the enemy with you. If not, you were a coward,
and deserved to die.

You were a coward. You deserved to die.

They scooped up what was left you, and tossed it into the icy waters of the Seine. Your spare uniform and pips were sent to us, along with a crisp new flag of the patriot.
"Something for the Mrs." they used to call it. Mum cried for days. Weeks, even. She knew she'd never see you again anyway; they told her this; but she didn't deserve it.

You did."