A POEM: Soldier

The Territorials

Are training between the library

And the Florists.


Khaki braided women and tall

Broad shouldered men running

And ducking, circuit training with

Lick-of-spit-black-shine-boots kicking


from the stones.


There is history on one side in the manuscripts and

leather bound tomes
Death and marriage to the other in ribbon and stamen,

In the fleshy fist of petal.


These soldiers in training lift


As if they were flowers.



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