Visiting Jack

What did you die for, Jack? I ask
as I sit by your grave a long way from home
and take in the sun and the cooling breeze
of a French morning like you would have known

There’s nothing to hear but the rustle of leaves
and the motorbike cooling down in the lane
I try to imagine the hell that you knew
Try to sense the nerves and the strain

What was it like in the trenches, Jack?
You must have been all in
Re-brigaded from unit to unit
Unable to sleep for the din

I picture you in the photograph
Military greatcoat, parted hair
And I feel like I’ve known you before
There's something so familiar there

I thought I’d come along for a chat
but I don’t really know where to start
I read your last letter home to your mam
and it almost broke my heart:

One last push, it’ll be over when
there’s no one left to kill
Hope our Tommy makes it through
With any luck, we all will

But the odds were set against you
and you never made it back
For hell descended one last time
in a final German attack

The war took your life away from you
and an uncle from my mother
Your poor sister, my lovely Nan
grew up without her brother

I probably I wouldn’t have met you, Jack
Our years are too far apart
But the stories that my mam could have told
would have rooted in my heart

What did you die for, Jack?
What cause was furthered by cutting you down?
How was the world improved
by slaughtering those who lie in this ground?

I'm glad that I came to see you, Jack
You've given me something to take away
I’m sure that we’ll know one another
when we all meet up again some day

So I climb back astride my bike
and ride away, head in a dream
of the butchering for Flag & King
of Jack Loftus, barely nineteen