the final course

you said it coursed though your veins.

i imagined a race, winding round and
through, not knowing where it would end.

you called it a battle.
so we gathered our weapons:
the bowls of soup, blankets,
warm rags, buckets, the ice.
a battalion against the unknown.

they charted the course and gave us the news.
“don’t give up! there’s hope troops.”

we carried you through the worst
as you led us through the rest, followed orders,
gave you nothing but the best.

then they said you could lose.

i imagined a race, not believing
that you wouldn’t end in first place

i think i have a fondness for war and race metaphors 😉