Without Triumphal Columns

Snaking river under battle mountain,
still a cannon rests on that high place
like the stock stone features
in a budget horror flick –
the cheap childhood fantasies
of former capital glories,
purples, crowns, whips, chains –
I remember the pavement under foot,
borrowed boots in pretender greens
unsheathed, unsharpened swords;
manufactured victory marches
without triumphal columns.