Morning Muster

Sing, Muse, of a patient company:
nine veterans standing at attention.

Some tall and straight-backed,
some bent from earlier campaigns,
each bearing small scars
earned in unnamed engagements.

One keeps his surface polished
like a medal.

Another leans sideways
with the tired dignity
of someone who has seen too much.

Most of them wait quietly,
lined against the wall,
their silence disciplined.

Then comes the summons.

One is chosen.

Forward he goes
toward the field of heat
where smoke gathers
and oil breaks open in sudden skirmishes.

He advances without complaint,
slides beneath the enemy line,
lifts and withdraws.

Behind him
the others observe the struggle
with professional calm.

Even the smallest—
the one who has tried
to make himself invisible—
is seized at last.

Awkward but willing
he enters the fray.

And so the whole company
takes its turn

in the morning campaign
of bacon and eggs.