Like stepping stones
these skirmishes
pave a way through
daily battlefields--
maybe enough
first cups of tea
after golden toast
and clouds of egg,
(not too done
nor run to snot),
will see us both
through Agincourt.
Perhaps the linen
crinkle of £10
underfoot
will take the teeth
out of Trafalgar,
and I suppose
Little Big Horn
might seem
a polo match
in the face of this
summer's day,
until we look out
across the meadow
to see the sky
is a smoky rainbow,
as the world
gives up its fire
to the night.
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