Grow up with a soldier, and by extension
grow up with disturbed nights, and a man
old before his time.
There's a song in the brandy of his eyes,
and I've been humming the melody
since I was a child.
When they pinned the medal to his chest
he winced, like they'd pierced his skin,
or even his heart.
The arms that reached out went ignored:
he could be a father or a soldier, never
the two together.
You chain a dog to a fence for one, two,
twenty-four hours, one, two, seven days,
out in the bitter cold.
The freezing turns its nose from wet black
to dry pink; the leash constricts in the frost:
one day it will break.
Sat shrunken and silent in the front seat
of the truck, rain pelting against the roof
and the windscreen.
Headlights are little help in this darkness,
but an old soldier's presence can fight
a daughter's fears.
A rotten fence and a rusted link chain
will break before the heart of a dog,
and it will run.
Through the driving run it will run,
and the headlights will reflect in two
fearless bright eyes.
The truck will swerve as it bolts across,
and the soldier will remember the dust
and roadside bombs.
The soldier will reach for his daughter's
hand to comfort himself, and I will not
realise why.
Tail lights flashed orange in the empty dark
as we searched for the aimless animal,
soaked to the skin.
Three blanket-wrapped bodies made it home
that night, and I glimpsed my father free from
the shade of war.
The wife of a tired soldier will cry as he does,
and wake in sweat-drenched sheets whispering
words of comfort.
She will cry tears of joy as rain drips from his hair
and she realises that he has finally come home,
and he smiles.
The dog came to us grey, and turned white
as the spring came in. The soldier faded too,
heart warm again.
Chain a dog outside and leave it bereft of love
or compassion, and it will find common ground
with an old soldier.
Sometimes animals are the best friends.
