Even immortal men are mortal,
a bleeding ulcer and chest infection at 81,
nothing magical, nothing fantastic.
Tolkien did not die when he should have.
Reluctant to serve in WW I,
married, languished in Britain,
family-badgered, socially scorned,
enlisted as a signals officer,
shipped to France.
On the verge
of the Battle of the Somme,
lice ignited raging trench fever.
The prescribed ointment
maddened the lice,
sent him to a British hospital.
His entire battalion
destroyed at the Somme.
Lice saved the Rings.
Originally published in Spank The Carp