Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #126
Stabbed By A Bayonet
by Belinda Roddie
Stabbed by a bayonet, I propped myself
against the nearest weeping willow, pressed
my torn tunic against my stomach, and
exhaled, hoping the pain would soon regress
and the bleeding slow down. I know I would
probably die, but at least I could do
so without dirtying my uniform
much, or sitting in agony for far
longer than I desired. The cavalry
would come too late; I was sure of that. I
wished to pull the metal shard out of my
flesh, but it hurt too much to move or speak.
All I could do was breathe, and sit, and think,
while the armies stormed closer toward the brink.
by Belinda Roddie
Stabbed by a bayonet, I propped myself
against the nearest weeping willow, pressed
my torn tunic against my stomach, and
exhaled, hoping the pain would soon regress
and the bleeding slow down. I know I would
probably die, but at least I could do
so without dirtying my uniform
much, or sitting in agony for far
longer than I desired. The cavalry
would come too late; I was sure of that. I
wished to pull the metal shard out of my
flesh, but it hurt too much to move or speak.
All I could do was breathe, and sit, and think,
while the armies stormed closer toward the brink.
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