He used to get legless at Weekends

[Maureen K Clifford]

He used to get legless on Weekends

He remembered a voice saying over and over
‘you’re not alone Mate we’re getting you home’
Did he imagine it? Was it a dream?
He couldn’t remember his legs felt like stone.
He was a passenger, there on a stretcher
just one of many in an orderly queue
the hands that reached down to lift him and carry
were hoary and work worn but so gentle to.

He recalled that his Mum often told him when younger
that actions speak louder than words ever will
and that fact had been proven here time and again
and he also thought angels quite fitted the bill
He thought back in Oz they would read all about it
in the Sunday papers as they ate lamb roast
How a Taliban missile caused a plane full of diggers
to explode in a fireball – and turned them to toast.

He remembered the cooling feel of the water
a fleeting release. He began swimming home
but he didn’t appear to be making much headway
both legs uncooperative – anchors of stone.
And that was the last though he had up till now,
he must have blacked out from the shock and the pain.
He heard a young medic in a voice filled with anguish
say ‘ that young blokes legless, doubt that he’ll walk again.’

Oh his Mum would be angry, she’d be bloody mad
he could see her now - she’d be fit to be tied
if he threw the towel in – not that she’d let him
he heard her voice saying “ Boy you haven’t tried.”
They were flying him home – there were just six survivors
and he thought of his home out there at Reservoir.
He knew that the road ahead would be a hard one
he’d need every ounce of his courage for sure.

But he was a survivor and for that he was thankful
no more fallen empires would his size tens see.
He thought he heard his long gone Dad’s voice say softly
‘ I helped you to walk when you were a baby.
You’ll not walk alone Son – I’m right here beside you
between us we’ll do it and make your Mum proud.
I love you my boy - though you always knew it.”
His eyes searched for his Father. He saw only cloud.


Maureen Clifford © 10/11

[Neville Briggs]

That's the cruel appetite of the war machine Maureen, it requires the most able, fittest and strongest young men so they can be reduced to disability pensioners. Sometimes , I guess, as here, we need to be reminded that its not just the physical wounds that they suffer.

[Maureen K Clifford]

Well said Neville - far too many IMO coming home badly injured or worse - dead. Need to get out of that place.

[Terry]

Hi Maureen.
Good poem on a difficult subject.
I've been saying the same thing as you about bringing our boys home.
I also think it's time America stopped sacrificing their young people as well.

Terry

[Leonie]

Yep, couldn't agree more. Time to shut down the war machine - if only. *sigh*

[Rimeriter]

"Bloody nice, mate".

[Rimeriter]

"Bloody nice finale, mate".

[Maureen K Clifford]

Thanks Terry, Leonie and Rimeriter - seems if they do in fact get legless from alcohol abuse then we bring them home

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