ramblings and things

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Charity Collector

They say the stressed squaddie
Has that thousand yard stare
He's talking to your face
But he's looking past you somewhere.
It's a result of past combat readiness,
Of needing eyes in his back,
While carrying out a duty,
A sort of mental torture rack.

I stood there with the bucket
in the centre of the town
Passing out the leaflets
To the people milling around
Collecting for the Veterans
Trying to catch the eye
To get hands in the pockets
Of the people just passing by.

Some folk would stop and chat
Be generous with their cash
Some just drop the odd coin
On their shopping Saturday dash;
Some folk just walked past
As though we weren't there,
Giving us the civvie impression
Of that veteran thousand yard stare.


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Charity Collector