We’ll raise a Glass

We’ll raise a Glass

The light is dimming, evening falls

As I am fallen.

My head is swimming, the day is dying

As am I.

And in my ears the jagged explosions of distant grenades.

In the gentlemen’s club they read the news

More casualities of war, the price of metal increases

They pay their subscriptions, I pay their dues.

My lips are cracked and I gasp with thirst.

Their bottle is cracked open and the liquid spills out

As drop by drop, life’s blood ebbs from those here cursed.

In a foreign field I stare up at the stars,

mud caked round my lips and clogging my throat.

In the Foreign Office they are propping up bars.

The lights are dimming, the barman wipes his eyes,

And in ‘Wipers’ many eyes are closing.

And in the Gentleman’s private club they raise one last glass

And gentle men and privates raise one last sigh.

They raise a toast to the fallen ones,

Whiskey chasers and slugs of fine malt slip down gullets before bed.

And somewhere on a bed of debris a slug slips through my head.

Goodnight.
 
Linda Prince