Fay The Somme Tay Bonhill Poem by Dan Reynolds

Fay the Somme tay Bonhill


From a labyrinth of trenches
Mud, blood and innocence mixed to
a paste of distaste, forever on the palate.
To see his “Hame” at last,
would be enough glory to cloak
the empty-eyed acceptance
of futility.

Before one single cuddle
or tender kiss,
she scurried him into the wash-room.
Ran the lit candle up every last pleat
of his lice-ridden kilt.
No snap,
but the crackle and popping
o’ a wee Glezga cereal killer.

She left him in the tin bath,
knowing the bairns would ask,
“Did you kill anybody in the war, Dad? ”
Not in horror, or glee,
but excited neutrality.