Tinsel is caught in the breeze from the door
Without choice he is back on sword beach
A Christmas decoration becomes barbed wire
He has a drink from his pint
But only feels the dry throat
He had that terrible day
Beers tastes like Metallic blood
Party revellers voices
Become a dull nonsensical mush
Flickering fairy lights
Are now raking deathly shards
From a German MG 34
Nobody notices him shake
A slap on the back
Like his corporal did back then
“Happy Christmas Tommy.”
“I don’t want to move”
“Please don’t let me die”
Beer spills down his leg
The bar door opens wide
Those same blue eyes
Meet his green eyes
Comrades together again
A smile cracks Tommy face
Its only Tinsel after all.
© Tony McNally