Grandad (D10 #NaPoWriMo)


Mornings of shattered ice
And bacon and eggs,
Big black toms with
White cotton socks,
Bristles still infused with
Tobacco and whiskey
And big bear envelope hugs
That gripped in desperation,
As if by letting go
He’d founder,
Founder instead in cauldron of
Mud and floating skulls
And corpses half way to hades,
Crunched under half track
Sten gripped tight
The stench of death
A constant knife in the gut,
Where the social contract
Got left behind,
And the law of the jungle
Was writ in blood instead.

© Greg Richards
Day 10 NaPoWriMo, a Portrait Poem – this one about my late grandad and remembered visits as a boy – a decorated WWII Veteran despite settling into the quiet of the Welsh Hills he was haunted still by the memories of those days in France.

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