The man with the tin, by Linda Edmondson
I see him, with the tin, as I put my shopping in
So I dig into my pocket and I find a pound
Is that enough? I ponder
What did he do? I wonder,
as I see him with the tin.
He wears his beret, faded; his regimental badge
Does it still exist? I think
It does to him, I know.
His medals show he did his bit – he got stuck in – him with the tin.
So is a pound enough – I think – again,
for all he saw, for all he did, for friends he lost?
We know the price of war; he knows the cost.
His actions gave us freedom; us, so comfortably complacent
A million pounds is not enough, but one’s a start
So I put it in the tin.
How it would have been, without him?
Thank you, I say, from my civilian heart.