He filled his week bag
with quick picks from the commissary
cover blades and skull cap
canned goods and half stated pearl
liquor bills and bleeders
for the flight of weary

Into the ****** bunks
of the western front
past sivana and nurture sage
past the pomp and ceremony
out of robes and into jumpers
and casings
and masks of gas

Light infantry and yelling men
muscled and scorned
fly boys high in 3 wing flight
mounted gunners filling the night
in hawkers and packards
and scabbard chape

Tarrant tabers and camels
dodge the vicker gun
skeleton hands grease the mill trap
carnage makers mark the rhineland
(buried in bunkers and pile bags and earth pack)

Trench helmets and metal back
under machine fire
minefields burn in muzzle and coil
deep in the shadows
and shrapnel and spear
the razor wire
and dead cold despair

Slouch hats and burning rats
kerosene lamps and droopers
the soldier stares down
the broken lines and limbs
a ****** holds steady
(shelved at a distance)
on ripped and rolled pipe and beam

It was an all in end game
a grapple for the ages;
*** in the fokker pursuit
over rolling hills and fallen comrades
into the bishop bullet
(and sporadic cheer)
which sealed the deal
in an empty field
off the brae corbie road