Saturday, August 13, 2016

Dreaming it through to the end

    Time after time at the Somme
    I was missed narrowly, and joked
    I was impervious to shrapnel
    And machine-gun fire, but
    Later at Leningrad hemmed
    In by restrictions, the cold and
    Russian tanks I sank

    Beneath the frost and
    Dreamed nothing, nothing else
    Made sense.  I had climbed
    My way to this and wore
    My fingers raw drifting
    Past hunger and thirst, waking
    Only to fall asleep once again.

    Vehicles and armor improved,
    Rifles and ammo weighed less,
    But I was older and dreamed
    Of abdication.  Surely at my
    Age my feeble trigger finger
    Wouldn’t count for much.  I’ll
    Take my rifle as all good soldiers

    Must, but settle softly in some
    Tight leafy world and listen
    To my dogs bark at meadowlarks
    And watch eagles drift beneath
    White clouds like Messerschmidts
    Seeking targets
    On the ground.

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