Sometimes you come across a poem that simply seems like a statement, as if there were no poetics involved; the poet is simply stating a series of facts in a way that happens to be particularly moving. I think that these are often the most highly crafted works. Here is one by the Serbian poet, Vasco Popa:
Absolute Goal
Two Red Army men are carrying
Their dead comrade past our house
A little while ago my mother was feeding
All three with apple tart
And Vershats wine
My father advised the dead man
They should go over the roofs
And come out behind the nest of machine guns
The dead man laughed and hugged my father
And together with the other two
Chose a shortcut
I watch the Red Army men
They put their comrade in a cart
With the crooked painted letters
T o B e r l i n
Vasko Popa
translated by Anne Pennington