Today's poem is by Hilary Sideris

The Violins

Grandad Gus wrapped
World War One in gauze,

said he'd been a sniper,
but Bert said he never saw

the front. I never heard Gus
wheeze, but he did pawn his

saxophone, saying he had no
wind. It hurt to fiddle—

shrapnel in his palm.
In one story, he got gassed

at the Somme. Bert clarified,
"He was a cook. He got

gassed by his own oven."
Gus took me to the violins,

placed me on a high shelf
with a biscuit, cup of tea,

let me watch the bubbling vats,
the men in long brown coats

stirring the glue, twisting
& tempering catgut.

Copyright © 2014 Hilary Sideris All rights reserved
from Fourteen Hills
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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