Singsong

Breathing ribs,
wrestling childhood foes.
We played superheroes,
one crushing the other.

We watched from the forest’s edge,
the Iroquois, setting fire to it all,
their bodies were half man / half king.

No need for rifles
with speed like their’s,
but with knives you can stab Caesar,
because if you erase a god
you can create one of your own –
or so we were told.

When the embers settled,
we wiped the blades clean against our jeans,
hid the body next to his sons,
under burnt offerings of branches and leaves.

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