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Old Man
They cleared out his house after he died,
the piles of old newspapers,
the rotting food,
urine-soaked mattress,
dirty clothes.
The old man who nobody liked,
grubby, unshaven, smelling of piss.
Grab your children and cross the road.
As he shuffles on by,
mumbling obscenities under his breath.
Nobody liked him,
nobody cared,
avoid him at all costs,
wish he was dead.
But if those who hated him,
had only known,
the young man he once was,
when many years ago.
He had flown so bravely,
against the foe,
to defend his country.
Nobody knows,
the bravery shown,
the medals won,
long time ago.
Victory was his,
as he battled alone,
blue skies above,
English Channel below.
So they cleared out the cupboards,
emptied the drawers.
Threw the photographs on the bonfire,
of the young pilot beside his aircraft.
Nobody to mourn him after he died,
no flowers left, nobody cried.
No one to thank the old man,
who nobody liked,
for the debt we owe.
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