Fifty soldiers danced the Macarena
on New Years Eve in perfect unison;
dressed in matching white troop insignia,
semi-automatics bounced with each turn.
Six children walked to town within a snow
covered mine field. Sunlight glistening through
icicles, reflecting a land somehow
aglow with roofless homes where diapers blew.
Three soldiers bragged that they could make a bomb
from two “meal ready to eat” packs, while this
quiet young private just mentioned a psalm
and warned that payment for good work brought risk.
He said, “Don’t do a good job around here,
or they’ll stick you with another year’s tour.”
Copyright Lynn Marie Sager 2008
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