After winning the revolution, we
all returned home, dragging our blunted
weapons in the dust and ashes. We wiped
blood and dirt from the blades and handed them
to the village smithy, who broke them on
his anvil. He melted the metal
in his furnace, then hammered the white hot
iron to fashion rifle barrels out of
swords. We all marched off again to war,
wearing bandoliers full of bullets made
of lead from the old church roof, to fight
against those damn’ revolutionaries.
