OH LET US LOOSE THE BLOODY HARE OF WAR

OH LET US LOOSE THE BLOODY HARE OF WAR

War-drunk Boudicca
Released a Hare
From under her cloak,
Set it free to watch it flee
Before her bloody chariots.

The idiot Hounds slavered,
And gave chase
The Gods favoured
The moment and the reaping
Of souls was great.

And yet I wonder,
Did the Hare know what it was?

When it screamed-
A streak of lean
And desperate meat
Before the avid jaws
Of the Dogs of War-
Did it see what it was?

Or did it fancy itself
Lord of ferocity
Master of atrocity
Leader of the Pack?

Did it see
Its own escape-velocity
As killing-desire?
Did it believe itself
Admired?

Was the flea-bitten,
Scrofulous Eater-of-the-Dead
Deceived into believing
It was a Warrior instead?

After the battle
It is Victory Day.
Medals are pinned
On mangy fur
And the Hounds of War
(pups following
the enticing scent)
Bay envious approval.

The War-Master smiles,
The Hare preens and dreams
It is the Alpha-dog,
Leader of the Pack,
When all it is is
The death-lure,

Sporting with pride
Its ridiculous ears
Nose twitching
At imagined fears
First contender
Of the Death Pool:

The Officer,
The Tool
The Fool.

MC