Countless Flies 1916 Poem by Terry Collett

Polly stands
behind George
at the window
in his room,

the nurse has left
gone to have a break
and a smoke,

George stares
out the window,

see them, Polly?
see them coming?

Polly puts her hands
on his shoulders,

yes, George,
I see them,
she says,
watching the gardener
and the young garden boy,
walking
with their tools
along
by the vegetable garden,

if I had my gun
I'd shoot them,
George says,

I know George,
but you need to rest,
let others worry
about them,
Polly whispers
in his ear,

George sighs,
pushes his fingers
through his hair,
they got Miller,
he says,
took his head
clean off,
lay in the trench
staring at me,

I know, George,
you need to rest,
Polly whispers,

he sighs,
his fingers tap
the window ledge,
his eyes staring ahead,
the gardener and boy
disappear from sight,

they've gone the cowards,
George says,
hidden from sight,
ought to have shot them
while I had the chance,

you've no gun,
George,
Polly says,
rubbing his shoulders,
wishing he was in bed with her
as he used to
before the War
and this illness,
she the housemaid,
he the masters' son,

she watches as his hands
tap his legs
getting faster and faster,

steady George my love,
calm now,
she kisses his ear,

he sighs and relaxes,
turns and looks at her,
smiles,
then suddenly cries,
around him,
he sees a room
full of dead men
and countless flies.