ALONE IN THE ESTAMINET... (My poem for Remembrance Day...)

 Alone In The Estaminet…

(My poem for Remembrance Sunday…)

A means of distancing,

Escaping from the insanity

And excruciating inanity 

Of trench warfare, the menacing

Tumult, the atrocity,

The mud, the rats, the mire clinging,

The lice, the barrage, the stink, the banality

And the threat, the death and the selfless sacrificing…

And here, in clean uniform, having bathed,

I sit, alone, a pipe smouldering

And a bottle of wine to drink to being unscathed

Physically, if not mentally…

And officers discuss orders beneath a crucifix, incongruous

And Madame folds her arms, shouldering

Such a responsibility, yet ponderous,

Eyes narrowing suspiciously…

A means of writing,

Explaining the gravity

And debilitating enmity

Of trench warfare: the fighting,

Insults and depravity,

The wire, the fear, the wild firing,

The shock, the horror, the blood, the fatality

And the tears, the dread and the endless smiting…   

Pete Ray…

Looking at an image of an estaminet, from artwork by Haydn Reynolds Mackey…