Battle Scars

Something stirred,
a recollection reared before my eyes.
You in the garret, head unbowed,
your nose bloodied from battle.

A skirmish you had won!
I would have loved to have seen
the defeated one,
your sworn enemy.

There were no tears,
only an ooze of gore
from your slightly swollen duke.

I had snuck up to that lofty place
where mum had banished you
for fighting again,
my heart hammering; my eyes
round with awe and admiration.

Later, I sneaked a slice of bread and dripping
a rock cake and a maggoty apple up to you.
I couldn’t let the victor go hungry could I?

After all
there would be weightier wars to wage
on other days …