Writ in Barracks

WAR
I
A tent that is pitched at the base:
A wagon that comes from the night:
A stretcher - and on it a Case:
A surgeon, who's holding a light.
The Infantry's bearing the brunt -
O hark to the wind-carried cheer!
A mutter of guns at the front:
A whimper of sobs at the rear.
And it's War! 'Orderly, hold the light.
You can lay him down on the table: so.
Easily - gently! Thanks - you may go.'
And it's War! but the part that is not for show.
II
A tent, with a table athwart,
A table that's laid out for one;
A waterproof cover - and nought
But the limp, mangled work of a gun.
A bottle that's stuck by the pole,
A guttering dip in its neck;
The flickering light of a soul
On the wondering eyes of The Wreck,
And it's War! 'Orderly, hold his hand.
I'm not going to hurt you, so don't be afraid.
A ricochet! God! what a mess it has made!'
And it's War! and a very unhealthy trade.
III
The clink of a stopper and glass:
A sigh as the chloroform drips:
A trickle of - what? on the grass,
And bluer and bluer the lips.
The lashes have hidden the stare....
A rent, and the clothes fall away....
A touch, and the wound is laid bare....
A cut, and the face has turned grey....
And it's War! 'Orderly, take It out.
It's hard for his child, and it's rough on his wife,
There might have been - sooner - a chance for his life.
But it's War! And - Orderly, clean this knife!'


Genre: Literary Fiction