Red-blooded roast beef, ham, haunch
Of venison, creamed corn, custard,
Claret , it did not matter.
They ate they knew not what;
They craved the release of risk,
The certainty of iron.
Slicing through bone, parting
Gristle, severing muscle,
Sins, slavery; they could not stop
Looking, listening, imagining themselves
At his side in Pottawatomi,
The blood release; escaping
The prison of the mind: they wrote,
They fought …..over words, they thought
Tonight that they did nothing, nothing,
Even the small comforts and joys
The armchair by the fire
The walk in the woods
The meek inherit only what the strong
Shape; the polite only preserve.
Wide eyes, ice blue eyes, thin
Here is iron, here is steel forged
In the fire of epic biblical rage.
They wiped their mouths; put down
Their double damask napkins determined
Never to return to what they had been before
Dinner had been served.