I eavesdrop on my guards.
I pretend that I sleep
or that I cannot understand
what they say,
even though I have been living
among them for two months now.
The men merely repeat
what happened in court yesterday,
and quite inaccurately at that.
I try not to laugh
at the Englishmen’s mangling
of French towns and names.
My mother always said
it was impossible to fool me
or win a disagreement,
because I can remember
the number of clouds
in the sky on any given day.
My memory is so skilled
and my wit as sharp
as an arrowhead.
I suppose the one consolation
of this trial
is that for once
I am not only able,
but encouraged,
to speak my mind.