poetry by j matthew waters

painted faces

we’re a militia of sorts
not quite young men but certainly
not children
we carry maps and canteens
and know the terrain
better than any local old men

khakis and camouflage
work best inside these ancient
indian trails
where tree climbing and sniping
go hand in hand
protecting friend from foe

self taught and preserving
what little turf we’ve left
we fight for immunity
against all unnatural laws
aimed at cleansing
any peoples like our own

january two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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