Sweets in my Pocket
The mission today is to go into town
An exercise in PR; they call it
Whilst I live in fear of losing my legs

One doesn't share that of course
Part of a soldier's dress code
Is the wearing of a confident smile

No sooner had we jumped from the truck
Than they were there; the children
My forced smile relaxes a little now

Tousled, dark-haired children;
The innocents; wanting only security
And the sweets from our pockets

Clinging to my roughened combats
Jabbering away; no pause for breath
Clamouring for individual attention

A few English words; intermixed
With their own foreign tongue
They learn fast, these children of war

But I am not their teacher.