What did you die for Jack?

The gravestones shine white
like the immaculate teeth of a politician
brushing off the embarrassing truth
...
I search the hard ground for comfort
as my body aches with the miles ridden

The bike ticks as it cools by the road
But there isn’t a sound among the graves
save the rustling of leaves

This place has a special peace
Nothing moves

I ask the question again

The rows of mute stones
neatly drawn by Lutyens
stare impassively ahead
Not a shuffle among the ranks

I imagine a scene with no cemetery
no trees, no birds, just mud
And gas hanging in the breeze

I imagine the strain of hearing the guns
Listening for the whistle
Checking pockets for Woodbines

I imagine you smiling and winking
at your pal waiting beside you, Jack
Then turning, seconds later
to find him gone

Trench-coat
Trench-foot
Trench-fever
Trench-warfare

Then over the top into no-man’s land
and death

What did you die for, Jack?

My voice sounds out of place
Safely distant from the barbed wire and the shells
Far removed from the savage machine-gun fire
and, if you make it that far, a German bayonet in the belly

I pull out your photograph
You gaze back

Young - very young, but
Cocky Self-assured Knowing

The collar’s turned up on your greatcoat
You don’t feel obliged to stand

You were no virgin

Not like the others
in pristine Dress Uniform
Posed after passing out
at some grey misty camp
back home

But there’s something else

I feel like I know you
Like we’ve met before

I read your letter home
Written to your Mother

The matriarchs of our family, Jack
They’re the ones you miss

Your little fight with Jerry, only days in
The kids you chummed up with killed or wounded

The clock was ticking, Jack
The odds were stacked against you
and you knew it

That’s a lot of growing up before you’re nineteen

What did you die for, Jack?
What cause was furthered?
How was the world improved?

They took your life
in return for the sham that is for ever England
An image of propriety and stiff upper-lip
A pretence of civilisation

Better to have left you where you fell
so the world would see the truth

Bring each generation

Take a look
Take a long look, brother

This is Hell

© Copyright Kevin Buckle 2012