Poem By Coal Miner Jock Graham

The Death Draw



(A Poem by Jock Graham) in Dark Roads 1973 p. 21.

Friends all changed to foemen, by propaganda lies.
A pretty little box we've made—a gift to "Uncle Sam,"
Full of young Australian lads marked for Vietnam.
Who will make the lucky draw not the lad who goes

Those who stay and help to make our peaceful friends our foes.
One, two, three, four a thousand mothers' sons—
Who will be the lucky lads to feed our war lords' guns.
Shades of last war's million dead I can hear their cries:

Lovely lives they promised, new Order all serene—
God . . . it was a horror, hunger doles obscene.
Still the lying broad-cast: all Vietcong are commos—
(Like to swim across the sea and take Australia from us.)

Some who draw a marble are knighted for renown,
Robbing workers' wages and keeping pensions down.
Ask ourselves the question, the moving question  WHY?
Should, for such aggression, little children die?

Draw a little marble, change it to a man,
Shape him in a war machine and send to Vietnam:
One, two, three, four—a thousand mothers' sons;
Who shall be the fodder to feed aggression’s guns?