remembering my father who would
fashion a rifle for me
from any old block of wood
carved and sanded down to
look like the Lee Enfield
he fought with in WWII
copper piping for a barrel
a nail for the trigger with a
rusty hinge for a guard
off i would go to fight a
war where no-one got hurt
no-one got injured
no-one got killed and
we all returned with
limbs, eyes, brain intact
no need for crutches or wheelchairs
as we ran through the
valleys and woods that were our
battlefields, hiding behind bushes
climbing trees, leaping streams
jumping embankments before
we conquered the black hill
as we played out our war
with wooden weapons
the only scars we gathered
when we fell and cut our knees and palms
as we ducked make believe bullets
that never fired or hit and we
swore blind we had never been shot
even though we hit our target a mile away
how brave we felt playing our
pretend wars with weapons of wood
that never hurt anyone
and now i look back
and think how all wars should be fought this way
until exhausted from a day’s playing and running
you go home for tea and a telling off from mum
and after a good night’s sleep
you are ready to fight another day
in the only war our young minds understood
and our only fear was the telling off from our
mother’s if we were late home
The Autistic FellRunner 