Inheritance

I came to tell you there's been conflict
at the Eastern shores of our country
Some ageing guardsmen, bitter at their loss,
mistook me for a generation's sentry

They thought, at first, I was a girl
(It's the hair. It's the figure. It's the weeping.)
They said, "You! Of Les Enfants Terribles,
No more counselling for you, but whipping."

I turned. They saw I was a boy
(It's the scowl. The ugliness. The dress sense.)
Enraged at their mistake, they made
themselves into a conference

I broke them up. I told them straight
they can't hope to take our city
They recoiled, and each one looked like a dog
whose nose had been swiped by kitty

"It doesn't matter what you say
of my stunning lack of wisdom
All my investments of body and heart
are tied up in one woman's bedroom."

"We're sorry you're so sure," they said,
"and we're sorry you're so blind.
For you'll never know what love is
til you learn to love your land."

"You're nothing like my family,
and this isn't your Agincourt.
Nor is it the beaches of Normandy
There is no bloody war."

With Caesar's face, as men on all sides
draw daggers from their sleeves, and advance,
they searched for something to alter me,
some words. Or a weapon, or dance.

They made a will. "We're leaving now,
for the cold of our village halls
We're leaving you all of our ruin,
but we're leaving you none of our spoils."

I came to tell you of the skirmish,
but I wanted to see you as well
I always want to see you
I can hardly believe you're real