Armurchee

At Armurchee

we fought the war

from behind

split-rail fence

and barn door.

Garrett

called me

Mr. Lincoln

I called him

Emancipation

Neither of us

knew the meaning

of the words

we used

nor of a nation

In disintegration

we only knew

if the British

were coming

what we'd do.

We'd meet

at the old copper

mine in the basin

and hide until

the minutemen

cleared the field.

At Armurchee

we fought the war

from behind

bales of hay

and cellar doors

Wasn't much

for Yankee troops

marching the basin

to take

Old Mr. Miller's

fancy plow

and Jackson's

prized sow

was all, about.

Advancing in

orderly rows

we thought them

blue-suited British

regulars instead

But I got too close

and a Regular's

horse

knocked me down

and it broke when

I hit the ground.

At Armurchee

we fought

the war

from behind

stray bushes

and farmhouse doors

I was in

the infirmary

nursing

my war injury

when I gave

Emancipation

his orders

And he brought me

field reports

on troop deploys

and intelligence

on the other boys

And I kept

a running

account of

all the intel.

“Mr. Lincoln,”

said Emancipation

one day.

“You think

we gonna win?”

“Of course,”

I said

And showed him

all the reasons

Armurchee

would finish

in victory.

“But Mr. Lincoln

it don't say what

we win.”

And I looked

through all

the notes again

Then looked

at Emancipation again

and shrugged.

12.28.18