Spoils of War

When it came to it I lacked sufficient discipline. It had taken all
My strength to claim the table and pack my books. Whole realms of
History were abandoned. Plants, crockery, CDs, all the stuff of life
Foregone in the lost hope of simplicity. There were few
Bones of contention. Just the lemon tree and the Syrian glasses. I
Made my bid for both, knowing I lacked the discipline.
Both were given up meekly, and it was only at the other’s bequest
That I finally put the lemon in the van. The six
Glasses eluded me. They would have been safer in my care. Half will perish
Within two years, casualties of the party wars. The others will attrite,
Their coloured glass a pale memory of family, hostages to
Entropy. I should have fought harder for them, but I lack the will to fight.