Memorial

Long-forgotten sentry
in a long-forgotten age,
waiting for a long-forgotten
war: tending to the making
of his manhood. Sweaty

head in awkward helmet,
agile body in a dirty tunic,
silly get-up, enemies
are not expected yet:
his armor’s in the barracks.

He lapses into fantasies
and naps: he’s told
that someday there’ll be
swords. Breezes lilt
against his shoulders,

forearms, face: he prays,
and therefore knows,
he’s shielded by a golden
halo from the gods –
and by the rocky fortress wall.

He’s secretly delighted that
his beard is growing in
so heavy: proud he’s
getting tall. He could be any
seventeen-year-old at all.

.