Victory, WI

All hail the crumbling stone monument

to the Battle of Bad Axe, the wooden helve

long rotted and burned, the short walk to the river,

where we can bathe in its brown,

where a steamboat ghost huffs out

a stream of bullets. We are invulnerable

to their spectral lead, descendants

of fur traders (beaver, ermine,

skunk). Our lungs are clean and pink. Let’s visit

the saw shop, the greenhouse with bluff views,

the pines and stacks of firewood,

the Blackhawk general store, named for

the warrior who waved a chalky,

misunderstood flag and eluded capture

for weeks. In winter, eagles

dive here, gathering lift when the wind

hits the bluffs: all hail the migrating

raptor, its piercing talon and yellow cere.