MAY '82

It rained,
and I heard it fall.
Maybe not every drop,
but almost all.

We cut the turf
and stacked it high;
two foot thick
and just as wide.

Rain ran down my face
while it filled the hole.
soaked my clothes.
washed my soul.

No gentle pitter-patter this,
it crashed.
the wind howled, and blew.
bayonets slashed.

And all the while,
eight thousand miles away,
you cheered, got drunk, and slept,
in a cosy warm bed.

©Copyright November 17, 2002 by James McE. Love

Author’s Note: People watched from the comfort of their living rooms. Unless you were actually there, or actually experienced war, you'll never really know.