Blind drunk

You’re blind drunk, my mother said
as he fell through the door,
and sure he was, on this one day
when thoughts returned to war.
They march the men on Anzac Day,
in honour of that time,
and drown their sorrows and their fears,
in wet, forgetful sighs.
It was a boy who went to war,
so many years ago,
and still a boy who drinks so deep
of grief he barely knows.
The man may hold the reins of life,
for most of every day,
but still the broken child returns,
in shreds of drunken play.
They thought they chose to go and fight,
but Fate held tight their hands,
to lead them on that sightless path
where consciousness was damned.
They didn’t talk these wounded men,
who straggled back from death,
and when they could they suckled
at forgettings fulsome breasts.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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2 Responses to

  1. This touches a nerve. It so annoys me when the papers dub pop stars and footballers as ‘heroes’. Idols maybe. But heroes do the heroic things and I am so glad none of my boys went off to war. And, if they did, I would certainly forgive them drinking to forget.

    • rosross says:

      I think the media has trivialized some words and betrayed their inherent meaning. As someone who spent a long time in journalism I observed this process at firsthand. I also don’t like the glorification of war which exists today – by all means honour sacrifice, a sacrifice made more by governments and misguided young men and women than anything else, but let’s not kid ourselves about the reality of war. All wars are fought on a foundation of lies and I think that does more damage than anything. Particularly with wars post the First and the Second where it was easier for soldiers to kid themselves they were actually fighting on the side of justice and integrity. But it is a long and complex subject like so many. 😦

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