1939-1945
When his face was still teenager smooth,
yet aged, from staying alive,
when bullets, bombs or mortars attacked,
he fell, face down, in the mud
in the trenches, in No-Man’s Land, in the mud.
His mates gave a hand,
but nothing helped
to banish the echoes of war.
1945
When a screen star shot her lover
in a crowded Halifax show,
and the sound demolished silence,
he fell, face down, in the popcorn,
in the front row, in the Bijou, in the popcorn.
His girl pulled him up,
but nothing helped
to banish the echoes of war.
1946
When lightning stabbed and thunder cracked
or a truck whined the hill outside
his home in a Hamilton suburb,
he fell, face down, on the floor
of his bedroom, in his home, on the floor.
His wife hugged him close,
and prayed love and time
would banish the echoes of war.
Copyright 1980 Ev McTaggart
Published in Symbols, the 1996 poetry volume of Canadian Authors Association, Niagara Branch
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Newfie hugs, Rose