Two ships sailed west to Sussex-
Invaders ready to spill English blood.
Shades of color glinted off
The razored blades of well-used swords
Axes and maces bound in fierce leathers.
Sixty-two wives bathe in the shallows of
Tanagra Kin, singing the battle-song rent
Like linens from the halls of Valhalla with defiance.
These accidental widows invoke their Gods
Odin, Thor, Freya with the certainty of nuclear strategists.
Seven leagues off the English coast
Spouts a squall from the God called I Am.
Viking armor and amour both descend
With equal speed in the murky North Sea depths.
No horn blown triumph of fields reeking English blood.
Sixty-two she-cuckolds receive the King's permission
To serve as shield maidens anew in hurried raids
(Avenge disastrous lost sons of Odin.)
Women singing the secret blood song as
English Bards and Knights fall in heaps before them.
Sixty-two warrior women return to their homeland-
English hands, feet and heads they bury in
Plantings, shriven with prayers to their Gods
For forgiveness, glory, and honor-
Remembering men now turned to garden sausage.
