“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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