My Thermopylae

In the near future
my battalion of stormtroopers
bearing lasers
will dwindle
to 300 men
in wool chitons,
swords upthrust,
some grumbling
out the sides
of their mouths at me.
One will bear
me as a shield
to receive
in the belly
the bronze speartip
of our shared enemy.
My body may be one of many
blocking that pass,
that breach
to the Persian camp.
If so, may I tumble
out the other side,
knocked on the head
like Rahab
dizzy hooker
to tip off a guy
for a cigarette.