4871. I WOULDN'T MIND HIS FACE

I WOULDN'T MIND 

HIS FACE (WWI)

(Paul Fussell)

Attitudes of decrepitude; sock-dolls and fiery

deaths. 'We heard another matinee; we heard 

the maniac blast.' And, oh yes, the moment was

an integer of pure engineering, a farce corrupted

by lies and logic : 'this last bullet won't kill; the

lucky ones die, the unlucky get maimed.'

-

Now, I myself harbor an attitude like this :

'I am not you, nor am I your brother. I would

just as soon kill you  -  now and here  -  for

trying to steal from me than ever have to vote

for you again. Let me walk you, please, back

into these deadly trenches so I can see you die.'

-

Wilfred Owen, Wilfred Owen : 'Beauty's bearing

or muse of mounting vein; all, in this case, bathed

in high hallowing grace.' It becomes impossible to

salvage any life from this, when the ringed circle of

a flying death is landing down around each neck.

-

And I have run for miles to escape you. Silver doom.

Siegfried Bastard Lying Fool. Last in, first out. Dying

men tell no tales. 'You rolled;  I watched their hot

hearts fling flames....' I wouldn't mind his face, if I

could only see it staring up. We heard the maniac blast.