Act One (1918)
He pressed against the rough parapet,
Ankle deep in putrid mud
Oblivious to the stench of filth and rot
Meandering through the trenches,
Home to:
Red-eyed rats — fat and satisfied,
Blank-eyed soldiers — gaunt and terrified.
Heedless of the horror below, a soft spring breeze
Unwittingly wafted Death’s miasma
Beyond crater-pocked hell
Into the battle-ravaged town.
Palms sweat-slicked, licking dry lips,
He waited—
The officer’s whistle shrieked once,
Over the top, he sprang, bellowing,
Head low, rifle clutched, sprinting
Towards barbed wire tangles.
Machine guns clattered.
In mid-step, he paused, confused,
Features softening, rifle dropping,
He slid slowly into the slime.
In a gun’s flash,
All dreams, all hopes extinguished.
Forever, nineteen,
His friends called him Jimmy.
Act Two (1944 )
He crouched inside the landing craft
Sweat-drenched, shivering, teeth chattering,
The bloodshot dawn broke over him
As thunderous shelling ceased.
A silent shroud blanketed Normandy
For an eternal second.
Suddenly, revving up, powerful motors
Propelled his squad
Towards the strip of dreaded beach;
Enemy mortar fire, defiant, roared back.
Bursting shells, rocking his LST,
Exploded others into lethal fragments.
Clasping his helmet, he hunkered
Into the steel womb’s safety,
Broken by the sergeant’s yell, “Ready!”
The ramp dropped.
Out he shot, shouting,
Head held low, rifle held high,
Stumbling and splashing,
Toward scarred sandy shores.
Machine guns clattered.
In mid-step, he paused, surprised,
Features relaxing, rifle dropping,
He slid beneath rolling surf.
In a gun’s flash,
All dreams, all hopes drowned.
Forever, nineteen,
His friends called him Jimmy.
Act Three (l970)
He lay in the tall grasses, tense, listening,
Mud slithered up his arms, down his neck,
Oblivious to teeming insects and dank, steamy heat,
He waited.
Behind him the jungle slid closer
And still he waited, motionless, silent,
Blending with waving ferns and tawny earth.
Then, he heard it
Softly in the distance, a humming,
His heart leaping, eyes searching,
He waited.
Then— the beat, beat, beat of rotors,
As the menacing jungle inched nearer,
And one battered Huey set down.
Up he leapt, legs pumping,
Head low, rifle swinging, he raced
Towards the helicopter and life.
Machine guns clattered.
In mid-step, he paused, puzzled,
Features loosening, rifle dropping,
He collapsed, sucked into the bog.
In a gun’s flash,
All dreams, all hopes squashed.
Forever, nineteen,
His friends called him Jimmy.
-Eleanor Kidd-
A book of poems by Eleanor is now available for purchase at Jamieson’s General Store.