Three Confederate soldiers awaiting
             their disposition by a Union general

The youngest captive wears full
butternut regalia, is handsome
with long red hair, his field cap
cocked, one hand on his hip, a man
not ready to be immortalized
under yellowing varnish. An old man
stands next in line, bearded
and wearing a ragged brown coat.
He slumps like the very meaning
of surrender, but his jaw is set
and his eyes are like flashes
from distant cannon (we have waited
a hundred and forty years
to hear those reports). The third
is hot and young and ornery,
wearing a floppy hat, brim up,
his military coat unbuttoned,
hands stuffed in his pockets,
his mouth poised to spit.
It would be he who would ruin
the Union general’s moment,
this formal military portrait,
that neat blue uniform, the calvary
saber and fancy black hat. He would
surely do something to spoil it
if the painter would give him the chance.