by Philip Bartram
(“Awaiting the Cessation of Cannons” mobile version)
Perhaps it is not the thunderous retort
Of cannons that have upset our bellies,
Increased our trembling, and caused our
Dry lips to crack.
As if the cause, we curse the cornmeal
And chicory root. Surely, the Sawbones will
Concur: Sickly men cannot endure the trek
To the stolid stone wall beyond the swales.
What unwavering tenure keeps us in this
Dust-stained light of afternoon, when the
Battle is drawn, and there is nothing more
To do? When ordered, will we loiter and
Shuffle our feet or go into the stone, falling
Like leaves prematurely, and never return
To the tree?
Field mice and the lowly June bugs
Burrow deeper beneath the long grasses.
As if sensing a violent rain, the studious
White-tailed deer and sly red foxes
That had hidden in maddening angst
Now begin to mourn for us.
In silent harmony, we sing the old Church
Hymns, and to each his recollection of some
Elated youthful indiscretion.
But now the fusillades have ceased and
As our blood-stained ears dry,
We are striding, without hesitation,
Forward in no certain cadence,
Into the stone,
Shoulder to shoulder,
Our last notes of endearment
Pinned to our butternut jackets,
Whistling Dixie,
Hard thin steel to the sun,
With the shims of our gaits gone.
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Philip Bartram lives in Bel Air, Maryland. He writes occasionally and has been published in several literary magazines and internet blogs including: Camel Saloon, Pyrokinection, Stone Country, and Black Poppy Review. He particularly enjoys the poetry of James Dickey. Mr. Bartram served in Vietnam (June 1968 through June 1969) with the 5th Mechanized Infantry, 1/77 Armor (Quang Tri), and 3/16 Artillery attached to the 1st Squadron, 1st Cavalry Regiment (Tam Ky) as a radio operator/forward observer..
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