Big Joe

We sat in the trenches.
Well, ‘hunkered’ really;
Trying to keep our arses
Out of the water, mud and rats’ piss.
Don’t know what’s worse;
The Germans or the rats
There’s one thing for sure;
If the rats had guns,
We’d have been bloody
Wiped out long ago.
Millions of them;
Big fat bastards; the only
Things thriving in this
Man-made hell; rat heaven.
They’re probably out there
Now, feasting on Big Joe

Great War! What a fucking joke
Me gas mask’s hanging
Around me neck; like a
Halloween disguise. Only twice
As scary. “Put that in your
Bag, you stupid little shite”,
Shrieked the lieutenant.
Just before the Bosch sniper
Took the top off his head
With a ‘point 303’ from
About two hundred yards.
They put HIM in a bag;
Fucked him up on a cart
But at least he copped it clean.
Not gasping and screaming
Foaming and coughing up
His lungs like Big Joe

‘They say you’ll be home for Christmas.
‘Said you had Fritz on
the run’, wrote me old Mum
Poor old dear, believes
all that shit. Sent me a picture
of me boy; three year old
and growing like a weed
that was planted in a pile
of horse shit. I cried when
I saw his picture. I wanted to
Hold him see? Just once;
I’d be happy then. She sent me
Some of his hair; just a little
Lock but I swear I could
Fucking smell him; fresh
And clean, ‘bit like a milk churn.
I showed it to me brother, but he couldn’t
See it proper, so he took off his gas
Mask just as it landed; right in our
Fox hole. The gas got him good and
Proper and I cried; I miss him,
I miss Big Joe.