Poor Old Joe by Alison Cassidy

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Poor Old Joe

His hands were coarse -
Blackened nails stabbed
out of filthy fingerless gloves

he refused to take off.
Talked to himself constantly
restless eyes flickering -

they called it shell shock.
Slept in an ancient caravan
with a mangy blue healer

he used to abuse.
Drew his navy beanie down tight
to keep out the fear.

poor old Joe.
He used to be a gardener
before the war.

They say he grew beautiful flowers...

Alison Cassidy

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Reshma Ramesh (11/10/2008 7:43:00 PM)
you have way with this...........well done again

Elysabeth Faslund (9/15/2007 11:24:00 AM)
Positive reinforcement of the wonderful 'lost', seemingly, souls. But, when he dreamed at night, did he wander his rows of flowers and vegetables...delighting in the warmth of the sun and soil...who knows, but Joe. Emphatically Great, Allison! xxElysabeth

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