Tattoo

The Army Children Archive, "Dressing Up,"
via Rachel Duffett

Not ink, but a sharp rhythm that sends all
us soldiers back to our beds. Yes, even me,
in my made-up fatigues, a broomstick on
my shoulder—I’ve drilled dance steps and
swordfights, lit sparklers, tossed poppers.
I’m ready to go to war against being good,
against keeping mud off my shoes. If you’d
bring armor (baking sheet shield, colander
helm) we could muster a fine rebellion, at
least until the sun sets, until drums beat a
tattoo tap-tap-tapping us back to quarters,
until the real wars come visit us for a while.