Johnny

That Taliban bomb
Blew Johnny to a bed
And when he woke up
He wished he were dead
And when Johnny finally came home
He wasn’t marching there
Just sitting in an ambulance
Alongside his new wheelchair

So it’s goodbye Johnny to squaddie life
The billet and his mates
They’ll miss him for maybe a little while
But fate is fate is fate
There were no brass bands to meet him
Just his family no more
For Johnny was one of the victims
Of a politicians war
And they  still make their speeches
But they don’t give a 
No blood splashes their tail coats
When a squaddie’s hit
And Johnny will get his pension
To go quietly away
And be  remembered once a year
Every Poppy Day

He’ll have to fight for every penny
Fight just to survive
For he’s embarrassed his leaders
Just by being alive
Carry  your shield or be carried on it
Was the ancient Spartan way
Oh how our glorious leaders wish that
Were the creed today
But they  stand at the Cenotaph
Year after year after year
And shed the latest versions
Of their crocodile tears
And Johnny learned a lesson
If he never knew it before
There ain’t any glory mates
In marching off to war

When Johnny finally came home
He wasn’t marching there
Just sitting in an ambulance
Alongside his new wheelchair
And that Taliban bomb
Reverbs reverbs reverbs in his head
And Johnny, our poor Johnny
Still wishes he were dead

betrayalconflictmilitarysoldierwarrhyme

♡Like0

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.