Dear Mat, For the red scarf I'm much obliged . . .

Dear Mat, For the red scarf I’m much obliged.

At first I couldn’t wear it—bright colors

draw fire—but now I can. We took a shell

where three of us were washing out our socks

in a crater near my post. Good thing

the sock was off my foot since the foot’s

all to pieces now—don’t you fret,

it could have been my head, I’ve seen that here,

and then what use would be your pretty scarf?

The nurse bundles me up like an old man,

or a boy, and wheels me off the ward,

so many sick. But the Enemy suffers worse,

thanks to our gawdam guns as Pug would say.

Victory will come soon but without me.