Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Poetry: Agincourt II 

Damp and dirt on clothing
Is always most apparent to the wearer on the hands.
Wet gloves with sand brought inside by wet fingers
Are uncomfortable, especially
Under chain mail.
And a blade that hasn't been kept
As scrupulously clean the last few days
As it should have been,
Made as free of rust by polishing with dry sand
As it would have been
If there'd been any dry sand to use,
Grates as it's drawn.
It's a feeling
Not so much a sound.
It reminds you that you're cold
And wet, and you haven't eaten
Since yesterday at noon.
Nothing spoils a victory like rain.
Copyright 2015, Joseph McConnell

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