each time at the battle
weighted boots in quaggy ground
the trumpet blasts cruel reveille
feebly, I pat my side for my sword
knowing neither myself nor my enemy well
I expect to surrender
you’re maneuvering on the hill
ruthless, tyrannical and in some stupid outfit
it’s too exhausting to field friendly fire
blah blah war warrior warning shot
I consider only what I will concede
which expendable limb to lose
eleanor j jackson 