Doing the rounds

The blood stained covers
were removed,
and so was the body.

The name wasn’t mentioned
for we all knew who,
we’d come to expect the dreadable,
some even found solace in the peace
of newly laundered white linen,
creases smoothed like a fresh
new day; even smelt like

flowers, what good are flowers.

He was my best friend, Tom.
Tom the guy who cheered us up
with his untargeted bayonet wit,
who smiled through adversity,
to the last. When I lost my leg
crossing that lavender field,
he was there stretchering me to safely,
eyes intent with friendship’s purpose
and hayfever. He wiped his eyes.

That’s when the shrapnel hit.

“And how are we feeling today?”

“Very well, very well indeed, nurse.”

“Good, good, we’ll soon have you up
and…” she hesitated.

Yes, keep running, Tom, keep running,
I’ll catch you one day; eyes watering
from the allergy.

God bless her,
she’s only doing her rounds.


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