the mighty armor of our ancestors
the ones they tell us of in books or plays
who led armies, won battles, thrones
and helped shape a new world
I suspect none of them were my ancestors
little men of little passions
small families huddled in small houses
sleeping with eyes tight against the night
ears stoppered against noises
hands clutching covers instead of swords
and in the daytime farming furtively
their closest kin the mice who stole from them
I hope I wrong them, I hope at least one
lost temper and used hoe as a weapon
even if he was immediately cut down
his family and neighbors woudn't think
to raise a statue to him
but mentally I sure do
No comments:
Post a Comment