Little, Plastic Soldier


He misses his little, plastic soldier.
His little, plastic soldier
that he kept in his window sill,
in his bedroom,
in his apartment,
in a country now far away.

The little, plastic soldier stood watch
as his brother and his friends
took to the streets,
marching and chanting
about things he did not understand.

The little, plastic soldier stood strong
as the real soldiers came to town,
followed by shouting and screaming,
followed by his brother disappearing,
followed by his mama crying all night.

The little, plastic soldier remained firm
when the men in masks
appeared one day,
promising hell and vengeance
on all who would not follow.

The little, plastic soldier was left behind
when mama and papa packed his bag,
stealing him and his little sisters away,
hearts full of panic,
as they avoided angry and ecstatic eyes.

The little, plastic soldier cannot help
as the five of them are packed
with hundreds of others
in the smelly, rolling, rusty ship
and air has become as precious as gold.

The little, plastic soldier fades away
as new soldiers scowl under berets,
forming a barrier between the families
and those who feel invaded,
and no one knows who is protecting whom.

The little, plastic soldier stays home
a home no longer home,
blasted to rubble,
drowned in blood, rage, and righteousness,
and the boy wonders if he still keeps watch.


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