Exlosions And Flares 1916 Poem by Terry Collett

On his bed
in his room
George sees the remains
of Gilmore laid out
bloody and foul smelling,

Polly tries
to get him
to lie down for a while
to rest
to calm his mind
and nerves,

Gilmore's remains
are laid there
he says
pointing to the bed
with a shaking finger,

Polly looks at the bed
where George's pyjamas
fresh cleaned lie
ready to put on,

George stares at her
move them
put them
some place else
he says
his finger
shaking faster,

Polly removes the pyjamas
and places them
on the dresser
over by the wall
and turns back to George,

I have laid them to rest
she says taking hold
of his shaking hand in hers
and taps it gently,

he mutters about
the stench of the trench
about the young soldier
who shook so much
when the whistle
to go over the top blew
he pissed himself
and shook so much
we left him there left him,

George stares ahead
at the bed holding on to
Polly's hands and mutters
left him there,

Polly wishes George
was his old self
and would take her
in his bed as he had
before the War came
now he shakes and stares
as if all around him
were explosions and flares.