It does not know

It does not know

Nor does it care.

When it comes calling

It takes whomever it will

It is a mercenary

With no allegiance

It does its work without favour

Whatever it gains

Is lost in every transaction

There is no avoidance

It brooks no argument.

Even as virgin soldiers

Taste first blood

In their vomit,

Counting their days

To a homecoming.

Drooling over tearstained photographs

Kept in waterproof tins

Young sprouts

Barely out of school

With cutthroat razors

An unused tool,

Kept sharp for Sunday

Folded up in white handkerchiefs,

Monogrammed by apple-cheeked mums

Praying for a safe return,

A letter in an envelope

Not to be opened

Unless directed.

It is blind,

As a mercenary

It takes no pleasure,

It is a piper

Bought and paid for in advance

Taking no side

Independent of circumstance.

When it is in the house

There is no beating it

Having read all the cards

It never folds

If there is to be a loser

You can bet your life

Hands down,

Heads bowed

In supplication,

Death will always

Choose to win.