Saturday, July 29, 2017



    “We were in school, too ill,
    Declared unfit to serve.” They
    Watched us with apprehension.
    We stirred the fire with
    The butts of our spears
    And grunted, looking sidelong.
    “Wouldn’t want them anyway,”

    One of us said.  No point
    In mentioning the dead
    No longer here.  The air           
    Danced fervid with swirling
    Dust.  Some say it’s spirits
    Of our warriors, or enemies
    If the swirl is wrong.

    One of us began to sing.
    We all joined in, drinking
    The wine, letting it draw us
    Toward our next encounter.
    Fire burned like burials till
    We stood slick with sweat –   
    The drum beat. Time to go.

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