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Robert W Service - The Booby-Trap
Work rating: Low

I`m crawlin` out in the mangolds to bury wot`s left o` Joe —
Joe, my pal, and a good un (God! `ow it rains and rains).
I`m sick o` seein` him lyin` like a `eap o` offal, and so
I`m crawlin` out in the beet-field to bury `is last remains.

`E might `a bin makin` munitions — `e `adn`t no need to go;
An` I tells `im strite, but `e arnsers, "`Tain`t no use chewin` the fat;
I`ve got to be doin` me dooty wiv the rest o` the boys" . . . an` so
Yon`s `im, yon blob on the beet-field wot I`m tryin` so `ard to git at.

There was five of us lads from the brickyard; `Enry was gassed at Bapome,
Sydney was drowned in a crater, `Erbert was `alved by a shell;
Joe was the pick o` the posy, might `a bin sifely at `ome,
Only son of `is mother, `er a widder as well.

She used to sell bobbins and buttons — `ad a plice near the Waterloo Road;
A little, old, bent-over lydy, wiv glasses an` silvery `air;
Must tell `er I planted `im nicely, cheer `er up like. . . . (Well, I`m blowed,
That bullet near catched me a biffer) — I`ll see the old gel if I`m spared.

She`ll tike it to `eart, pore ol` lydy, fer `e was `er `ope and `er joy;
`Is dad used to drink like a knot-`ole, she kept the `ome goin`, she did:
She pinched and she scriped fer `is scoolin`, `e was sich a fine `andsome boy
(`Alf Flanders seems packed on me panties) — `e`s `andsome no longer, pore kid!

This bit o` a board that I`m packin` and draggin` around in the mire,
I was tickled to death when I found it. Says I, "`Ere`s a nice little glow."
I was chilled and wet through to the marrer, so I started to make me a fire;
And then I says: "No; `ere, Goblimy, it`ll do for a cross for Joe."

Well, `ere `e is. Gawd! `Ow one chinges a-lyin` six weeks in the rain.
Joe, me old pal, `ow I`m sorry; so `elp me, I wish I could pray.
An` now I `ad best get a-diggin` `is grave (it seems more like a drain) —
And I `opes that the Boches won`t git me till I gits `im safe planted away.

(As he touches the body there is a tremendous explosion. He falls back shattered.)

A booby-trap! Ought to `a known it! If that`s not a bastardly trick!
Well, one thing, I won`t be long goin`. Gawd! I`m a `ell of a sight.
Wish I`d died fightin` and killin`; that`s wot it is makes me sick. . . .
Ah, Joe! we`ll be pushin` up dysies . . . together, old Chummie . . . good-night!
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