“Where’s the First Battalion? We haven’t got any more
idea than you have ~~ they might be anywhere.
There’s no front line. You’ll just get caught in a raid.”
Cool darkness after the foggy slobbering mask.
The long sky slashed with trundling swift uproar,
rumbling and husky in the whistling air,
and gas shells hustling into the valley made
a wobbling whisper like a hurtling flask.
We turned along the ridge to the river’s shore.
“By God what’s the matter with all those men?”
“Hey there~~
excuse me, sir ~~ you going by any chance
to the dressing station? I got twenty men ~~ I’m afraid
they’re gassed pretty bad ~”
“What were you going to ask?”
“For God sake tell ’em to hurry up the ambulance.”
(John Allan Wyeth)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Chance PoemsBased on Keywords: wobbling, hustling, trundling, slobbering, gassed