MY VERY OWN MILITARY MARCH

Drum thrum a-drum tum-thrum
sprawl the footfalls of military men
in perfect cadence and rifle-frown
across the porches of girls in blush
and gown, breasts neither full nor grown.
They step in line, through circumstance,
threading French folk dance
and without thimble and without needle.
They came to court, they came forthwith
to throw the flowerbooks at others’ feet.
Forward, cock, fire, and shoulder-slung
the rifle-frown: drum, sprawl, step,
and go good in thievery.