Boudicca (Poetry)

Flame knitted hat pulled low,
wool-helmeted, head bowed she leads the charge —
her chariot propelled, she wheels on in
and parts the ragged crowd.

They let her through — fall back,
give way to her intent, the dark looks thrown,
the gestures from crabbed hands,
her wave imperious.

While she barks out her orders —
tells him, her pusher, where to steer
the chair. Her wily war manoeuvres
scythe a victory path, the flashing chrome like swords.