Two Sergeants

His cassock is gone
his black surplice with cloth buttons
is second-hand
he wears a lavender suit with silver buttons
and a high patrol collar.

I have a blue surplice with sticky pockets
I constantly watch the stained glass soldier
puttees, bowed, bare headed, trailing a .303.

As a charcoal sketch, I smudge everywhere
indistinct, a cloud that looks like rabbits, diamonds, 747s,
whatever you want.
An Inspector or someone with the correct credentials
will conjure me the alibis I need
for my content.
If you look closely, a figure shorn of detail emerges
walk, don't walk
I am red or green as the mood takes you

But even clouds essay themselves
sometime
slap down the tyro, the shy
your comfort is everything
I must return to familiar hills

We kneel
he remains sitting
his eyes are clear, relaxed, sceptical
he moves with purpose, he is himself