War Time Writings

Trench foot

Water seeps through the meandering cracks
Of leather over the top of a trench.
Feet start squelching and pains
Start squealing. The boots fill up,
Collecting mass and mud as it rains
Hard and with vigour. Like
Bullets plummeting the top of a helmet
[When i was out playing on the field].

My feet itch. My teeth grit and my skin peels
Turning the colour from peach to black.
Skin hangs off and toes drop off.
But it's just another day of work.