Douglas W. Gray

With aerosols they daub the crooked cross,
gob on the fallen of two world wars.
Subject to the Somme was grandpa,
trenches filled with youth, sunk

among a sea of gas and mud.
Sweat and blood, son,
sweat and blood, my faither,
the time he spanned the Kwai

(aye, over and over). And ma'd respond
with bullets and bombs, painting
a munitions scene, making a meal
out of coupons and clothes, a peppered Aberdeen —

you don't know you've been born!
Listen, boys, my d.o.b. was rock 'n' roll,
not this mess of millennium blues
and yeah, like you, never witnessed death

or glory, but live in fear of a cloud.
See, we've all got a story, a personal hell,
so let me tell you this — The Great War,
now apathy reigns, The Big Push is

needles in veins. And I've got a fight
to refrain from the drink
where the campaign lasts for life.
Keep spraying, boys, is that what you think?