We can see them now for ourselves
moving careful keeping to the shadows
on titanium feet and wicked stumps
horribly scarred jagged and ugly
across former innocent
bright eyed faces.

Don't try and talk to them yet.
With these ones that may never come
but certainly if it does
not for a long long time.

After all,
what is there
to possibly say?

So we just steal glances
and hope the jumpy belly
queasy stabbing thing
in our guts
washes us clean
as we run back to the happy place
where our stuff keeps
as far away from them
as possible.

Every generation has their share
of unlucky heroes and impossible survivors.
These ones merely this years' model

though only fools deny
how bad and stupid
our new crop got it

which is why
when the talk finally comes
it won't be no more pretty
than the ugly scars and distant eyes
they bring in from the desert
in dribbles and fits
managing their way
from the planes
to the hospitals
and someday home.

And only then inevitable as the moon
is there the chance for something good to come
from this horrible stupid evil thing we did
to these naive beautiful children
of our Gallipoli.

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