18 August 2015


So it might be a reclusive form of naiveté that we’ve 
never needed to come to terms with yet - and that’s 
as scary as bet-hedging on futures left largely to an 
idiomatic she’ll be right expression, simply because 
its always been done that way; and yet a 100 or so 
years invested in discerning wood from trees isn’t a 
panacea you’d lean a century of History upon - not 
for a sane reason - unless you’re avoiding Gallipoli 

All those years coming to terms with ‘leaving’ made 
it seem Service For Your Country had more cogent 
meaning greater than simple uniform wearing - that 
soldiering was saintly sacrifice or something like it - 
but the irony’s in who makes the play practically an 
obligation to be seen again in self-same khakis; or 

Am I dreaming we are desirably symbolic of some 
ideal we mustn't forget about too quickly, specially 
if the easier way to scam a quick buck or three off 
populations wearied of military ceremony, rhetoric,
and beaches with dawn parades to watch a sun’s 
rays spread word he’s never coming home again 
© 25 April 2015, I. D. Carswell