The Blacksmith and the Klingon Warrior
by K'nilC (David Clink) [email protected]
This is not a good day for blacksmiths, as the dust hangs in the air,
in this place of work, the anvil, the furnace, the hammer. There are
scraps for the Targ beside the workbench with all its nicks, grooves,
and a
Klingon warrior has come, looking behind things, around corners, kneels
to look under tables. When he kneels it’s as if he were
handing a rose
to a lady, or conceding that he has been bested. He knelt like this
before Chancellor Gowron, to take an oath. His form, breathtaking. His
Bat’leth still has blood and skin on it, a Bat’leth
that should have
cut a man in two, but only went half-way. The blacksmith hides behind
some cabinets, can see the Klingon warrior through a gap, and
doesn’t
move, does not breathe. His Targ walks past the Klingon Warrior,
towards
him.
This is not a good day for blacksmiths.
Where are Kang, his mates Koloth and Kor?
With success, they found honour and war.
Then they followed a Trill,
got blown up for a thrill,
and are knocking on Sto-Vo-Kor's door.
