V

Doo-ah-mont.
Doo-aw-mont.
Doo-aw-mont?
Eh!
C'ld never say
Them Frenchie names quite right. 

Y'know wot, tho',
From above it quite looks like a star.
Yeh, yeh, like a fallen, dead star, ain't it?
Right outta th' 'eavens.
Or like summat wot dropped down
Off a Chris'mas tree.
But I said "dead", din't I?
It ain't quite yet.

This'll be a bit much
Fer you to 'ear
But I don't 'ate th' Jerries, y'know.
Not like I'm s'posed ter.
Yeh, they're th' enemy an' allat,
An' we been fightin' 'em
Near two years.
Seems we ain't gainin'
more'n a few metres o' ground each day.
An' soon's we get it we fuckin' lose it again!
Bloody awrful!
Really vexin'.
But, but y'know, sometimes I think 'bout th' Truce
An'...well, I ain't got no personal-
Wotsit called, anermosity?-
Towards 'em.
Y'know, it's a bit silly,
But if that were like a real star,
Somethin' I could wish on
(An' yeh, I know it only works with fallin' stars, so what?)
Ain't like I really b'lieve in such rot),
I'd wish all o' us,
Tommies, Jerries,
Frenchies, Russians,
Even the bloody Turks
An' anyone else
Got dogs in this fight
Could jest drop our guns
Shake 'ands 'cross the lines,
Turn 'round an' march right back 'ome,
Back to our fam'lies, friends,
Sweeties, jobs,
Allat loverly stuff,
Treason an' th' brass  
An' all th' yeller nibs
All be fuckin' damned!
Else I 'ope this war'll
Be a lot shorter than it's felt
Fer two fuckin' years!
'Cos I'm real tired now.
Bet we all are.
But...anyways, that'd be me star wish.


Silly, ain't it?



DB/2.2016

Valentin

Bed,
under thin blankets.
10:00 a.m. Saturday
in April.
Our dim hotel room
by the Champ de Mars;
all over Paris
an attack of raindrops.
Wet windows,
and shutters of
fading, peeling emerald
ajar.
Slight chill,
heat blows weakly.
She stirs slightly
in the crook
of my arm,
sleeps,
murmurs,
smiles,
farts.
Oh!
Need (want) to prepare
the demitasse,
the eclairs
from 'La Leche de Venus'
patisserie,
and find that silver box
ribboned with a gold
satin bow
from 'Bijou'
that has the black marble
pearl drop earrings
she cooed over
last weekend.
But then she
pivots closer
to me,
taut nipples nestle
in my side
(frisson!)
and a bare arm alights
on my chest.
O,
then she sighs,
smiles,
farts, and
sleeps.
Okay.
10:30
or bust.



DB/2.2016