A 'Wheelchair Pushing' Marine

Marines pushing Wheelchairs (A poem by Draco Drella
Drella@washingtonweb.co.uk)

When a group of marines run past pushing a wheelchair,
Then why should I care ?
Aren't they are fit,
They carry their kit
They have guns,
They may have sons
I won't tell them,
That I wish that their lives were interesting enough that they did not
have to take the 'King's shilling', and sell their souls.
No I smile at them and I say "Good work lads ! It is nice to see lads
achieving their goals."
I say "You are looking after the poor widows and orphans. How
commendable"
And No ! I won't say "All the charities that you push wheelchairs for,
is for those who also took the 'King's shilling'. How
coincidental".
No, I say "I see you keep yourself fit."
Without remarking that I hope he does not have the wit,
To use that fitness to teach some sad 'Chocolate Bugger'
(Army / Marine slang for, and here take your pick, 'Shirt
tugger',
conchie, bolshie, unfit couch potato, person with acne,
transsexual, man with green tie, man, Jew, catholic, protestant,
Paki)
'That the genitals can experience pain from other men as well as
pleasure.'
And No ! Do not state quite clearly that, although a man of
leisure,
Heroically, that I am indeed a 'Chocolate bugger' by all definitions
known.
Instead I say with a conciliatory tone,
"Nice to see a young lad who is fit, and in himself, takes a pride
"
And then when I feel ashamed of myself for my cowardice and I
decide,
To take some courage and state my undying membership,
Of the 'Chocolate bugger' admiration and emulation society. Forgive my
slip.
But then you marines pull out of the hat an Arnhem veteran.
You are not going to get a better un
A man who took the king's shilling when there was no choice.
At a time when men like him had no voice.
Here is a man who had to invest his sanity
Unlike the Marines who invest only vanity
In the presumption that when they killed and maimed
Their fellow men who were jackbooted but not named
They were completely justified
Even though other men died
How can I say to those men,
Who may may die soon, but who knows when,
That they were wrong. That they should have spent,
Their entire lives since, making clear what they meant
Atonement for the wrong that they did.
No I must remember what I hid
That I have difficulty enough with my own sins.
But please understand when you pass your buckets and bins
That it is a penny that is being thrown
Not a pound into your bucket. And its not a gift, but a loan.