A Voice

Grandpa Joe was desolate. Life would be  lonelier now. His son had emigrated  to seek a new life abroad.

‘Dammit,’ he mumbled,  as he chopped more logs for the  stove.

‘Politicians and their empty promises.’

‘I’ve seen some good times and some bad in my eighty years. But these times sure beat all the others afore them. Young blood draining  out of our land.’

Pausing for a moment , he stuck the axe firmly in the ground as he turned  to see where the boos and cheers were coming from.  He had forgotten to switch off the tv in the kitchen. Going into the kitchen he stood  watching the march on  the screen. In the front row he spotted his neighbour, Andy, carrying a homemade sign. He couldn’t make out the lettering. Joe’s heart  beat faster.

 ‘Ol geezer Andy is  fighting for his country. Guess I’d better do the same.’

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