for mature audiences only…

28 Jun 2016 – The Corporal

Every young punk with a horned helm and sword
found his way there to our gift-dealing lord,
swilling a hogshead of hard, rot-gut ale,
falling asleep after filling the pail.

Morning arose like a shout in the East,
all the punks moaned and they groaned in their grief,
crying aloud of the dragon they’d met,
twisting and turning in bedclothes still wet.

“Shut up, ya green-willow spears all untried!”
the whole bloody lot of them hearding that cry.
“Soon enough we’ll see who’s worthy to live –
worthy to guzzle the swill our lord gives!”

A single swift kick sent each one to the floor.
Another encouraged them all out the door.
“I’ve seen me mere field-mice more fearful and fell!
Thor send the lot of you straight down to hell!”

Sarge was an expert in training recruits.
He knew how to swear and use both his boots.
This morning he spared not one of his skills,
rousing to life his new heap of road kill.

“Whoresons and hovel-scum, get to your feet!
I wanna see who the dragon’ll eat!
You say you’re warriors – she’ll call you dessert!
You’d best be off to your mama’s broad skits!”

Over the clamor a hoarse whisper sang,
a dumb, deathly silence where armor once clanged.
“Ya just gotta wonder what creature gave birth
to someone like Sarge, wholly lacking in mirth!”

“Who said that?” Sarge asked, his eyes cold as slaughter.
“I’d sure like to meet a man fit for my daughter,
someone with balls to stand up to my face,
a sword arm to put me right back in my place!”

“Me” a voice squeaked like sparrows at feeding!
Sarge stared him down. “It’s a shroud you’ll be needing,
butterfly shrimp, maggot bait, bog of clap,
I’ll soon enough teach ya to open ya trap!”

Like lightning which fatback has buffed to a shine,
his sword was out, not wasting anyone’s time.
As if in a mirror, the new recruit drew –
Sarge left eating crow-boil when that boy was through.

“Well done!” cried Sarge, his voice dripping delight,
“have I got a blind date for you tonight!
So who have you fought for, and where did ya serve?
Let’s give ya a billet ya truly deserve!”

“I just don’t remember – I swear on this sword!
A clang on my head and I fell like a board –
right there on the battlefield, I just awoke
when some filthy buzzard gave me a sharp poke.”

“Who are my people and who are my kin?
Well, there’s just no tellin’ where this bad boy’s been!
Gimme a sword and a blanket – I’m good!
A bye on your daughter – for now – if ya could!”

“Sensible man!” said the Sarge, “cuz her mom
was a hellcat who taught her the ways of the Dom,
and you’re no submissive – or my name’s not Bruce,
and you’re now my Corporal, let’s bust some recruits!

I’ll trouble you not with the day’s cruel events.
Suffice it to say they went back wearing dents
in their armor and multiple scars in their skins,
a much humbled lot – each one missing their kin.

They slept in the falling leaves, slept in the snow,
marched in the mud where the Spring rivers flowed.
Finally satisfied, Sarge announced: “Swine!
Yer not much to look at, but fit for front lines!”

“Twelve hours leave – come back here tomorrow!
Here’s a gold coin – go forget coming sorrows.
Four hours action to lose your suspenders,
Eight hours after to sleep off your benders!”

Bruce the inviolate watched them depart,
smacking the arse of one breaking a fart.
His Corporal silently stood by his side,
“go son, you’ve earned it.” “Aw Sarge!” he replied.

“You still got a daughter you’d like me to break,
a two-legged stallion, for Odin’s sake?”
“Hell yes!” cried the Sargent, face filled with delight,
“I’ll saddle her up for ya – stop by tonight!”

“I’ll go take a bath, since I haven’t for months!”
“Ah hell, don’t ya spoil her, up front, all at once!”
Sarge answered, filled with a wee bit of awe,
his stomach – in fear for his life – feeling raw.

The Sargent went home to announce the good news,
his nerves steeled for battle, confronting the shrew,
and soon enough crockware lay shattered in heaps,
she scorned every skirmish – played only for keeps!

“Your suitor shows shortly, and you would do well
to straighten your hair because you look like hell!”
“Fuck off!” said his daughter, her piety shown
to her lord her father she loathed to the bone.

A knock on the door caught them both by surprise,
a sense of confusion welt up in her eyes!
She ran to her bedroom and slammed the door shut,
her father left standing with spears in his gut.

“Come in!” said the Sargent, “and don’t mind the pots!
The girl’s got a fever, she’s now in her cot!”
“That’s how I like ’em!” the man with no name
said, walking past him. “The best sporting game!”

And entered her room without further ado,
into the lair of the unbroken shrew!
The walls started shaking, there rang out such shrieks,
the servants stood silent and none dared to speak.

The outrage grew louder, such unconquered will,
until, in a heartbeat, the house was still
as death in the morning once armies clash.
A servant stepped forward and lifted the sash.

He turned the door’s handle and let it swing wide,
and lo and behold! What they saw inside
were two naked lovers piled up in a heap,
both dead to the world – yes! Both fast asleep!

The Sargent sat waiting at morning’s first light,
astonished, delight, still wondering why
the outcome was blessed, beyond every prayer
he ever could hope for, a dream never dared!

His daughter appeared and she knelt at his feet,
more shocking to see than a god stride the streets!
“Gods bless you, my father, you’ve found him! All’s well”
And all he could answer was “Whoa! What the Hell!?”

“The wart on his weapon! I knew it at once!
He’s the lost son of our late uncle Munce!
Many a night had my tongue teased that flame
before that poor boy finally sailed away!

And now he’s returned to us! I’ve brought him back,
restoring his mind as I emptied his sac!
We’ll live together for all of our days,
for you we shall name the first born – on his way!”