The little plastic soldiers
Don’t wear helmets
Or fatigues anymore
Their garments are burkas
Tunics or veils as
Sandaled feet pace
In wait and sand
Those muddied boots
Thrown away
These little plastic soldiers
Have homes and lives
Until we choose
To privilege our newer
Grown ups toys
Since (as everyone knows)
Our SUVs are worth much more
Than the little plastic soldiers
Who have to die
For 30 dollars a barrel
A poem by Franklin Oliver
© Gayle Force Press 2003
The WhoDeannyPod 