leading the blind 1916

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: February 07, 2016

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Submitted: February 07, 2016

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Polly waits outside George's room;
she anxious about his state of mind,
then being sent out by Dudman,
when all she wanted to do
was help George
in whatever way she could.

She stares at the door;
hears voices,
then silence,
the door opens and Dudman
comes out closing the door
behind him gently until it clicks.

He grabs her by the arm
and moves along the passage,
his hand gripping her tightly,
hurting her.

What were you up to
in there with Master George?
he says,
moving her along forcefully.

Let go of me,
she says,
trying to move his fingers
from her arm.

He stops
and releases her arm.

What were you doing to him?
he says.

I was trying to calm him down;
he was bellowing out
about someone called Gwyer,
she says angrily.

They stand staring at each other
toe to toe like two boxers.

She rubs her arm
with her hand.

No need to be hurting me,
she says,
I was helping him,
not hurting him.

Dudman stares at her,
his hands at his sides,
his body stiff and his
breathing heavy.

It didn't look good to me,
he says,
like you were up to
your old tricks.

Old tricks?
What do you mean?
she says.

You know what I mean;
last time he was on leave
you were in his bed
and God knows
what you were up to,
he says.

She reddens
and looks away.

Wasn't doing nothing like that
just comforting him;
he was upset about
the damn war
and killing and such,
she says.

He stands gazing at her,
at her inner strength,
the bosom on her,
the breathing making
them more prominent.

I warned you
about being with him,
Dudman says.

I was just doing
as you told me to:
taking his breakfast to him,
that's all,
and he kicks off,
she says.

He is silent;
gazes at her.

Keep his condition
to yourself;
don't want all and sundry
knowing what he is like,
Dudman says
quieter now.

She nods her head,
breathes in deep.

I'll say nothing,
she says,
but I can see him
can't I?

Dudman stares away
from her
along the passage.

As long as you don't try
and get into his bed,
he says.

She walks off down
the passageway.

He watches her go;
the sway of her hips,
the black dress
tight about her rear,
the nice legs
in black stockings.

She goes out of sight
and he walks
the opposite way
to report Master George's condition
to the young man's father.

Polly walks down
the back stairs,
her mind in confusion
over George and his
state of mind;
she feeling like
one with one eye
leading the blind.


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