Medal ribbons blooming
above his brass-buttoned pocket,
trousers knife-edged
from last night’s blanket pressing,
the sergeant enjoys his five minutes' break.
Not long left school,
the city boys of his squad strut about
a little way off, self-conscious
in their still-new, ill-fitting khaki
and their still-patchy, spit-polished boots.
Moustaches wisping
on young upper lips,
persuade their growers, if nobody else,
of their entry into a manhood
that boyish faces and schoolboy pranks deny.
This sharp November morning is sale day
in the nearby cattle market and,
savouring this away-from-the-city novelty,
they watch the auctioneer’s hot shouting breath
mingle with that of the placid cows,
Alone in his pen,
beyond the little knot of bidding farmers,
a solitary bull, pizzle extended
towards the so-near-so-far cows,
snorts at the watching khaki-clad virgins.
They recognise his predicament
and nudge and guffaw at the evidence of it.
Then, hearing the sergeant’s bellow,
they quickly pick their way back,
through a minefield of cowpats and puddles.
A contest entry
- Whatever You Want It To Be by Cursed4Eternity.
600 points, ended November 6, 2007, 13 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Round One of Five by Kei-Aira.
450 points, ended February 5, 2008, 27 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Oh my... this was well done by all means. One heck of a piece my friend. Great job and best wishes to you. Thank you for sharing. Keep that pen handy dear poet.
♥ Touchof1der -
I love the title, made me smile. The phrasing is a little crowded and word use should be looked over. Apart from that, this is intriguing but not my style.
Thanks for entering
& you are being removed but feel free to enter again.
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