Warzone
Poem by Krysada Phounsiri
the Market Battalion
blitzes full force
dashing past trash bins
used for cover
a boy launches
a grenade
barrages follow
from his comrades
guerrilla carpet bombing
pressures the enemy defense at
the alleyway of the temple
encased in a stronghold
of yellow rails wrapping
leading to high ground
if the offenders take the stronghold
they take this battle
WATCH OUT a defender alerts
soldiers dive
some duck
and a few take the hit
shielding their allies from explosions
arms wide
battle fatigues dampen
and stain
first wave of defenders fall
as their aggressors rush in
guns with hands poised to pull
triggers
rifles blast streams
civilians run off
ether of war
wrinkles their face
in frustration
rather than fear
a sight parallels a morning of
sunrise prayer
surprise attacks no longer surprise
the fight continues
ammo flows and shouts deafen when the
grenades hit their target
the attacking battalion close in
for the final melee strike
palms covered in chemicals
colored in white
spouting out a can
a smack to the eye
burns
one by one they fall
suddenly
a monk passes by
hoping he hides
hoping they ignore his body
orange robe reflecting the sunlight
all hands halt
when they see him
a reminder they dragged the warzone to the temple
they dare not attack nor offend him
as he strides through the alleyway
the soldiers resume when he passes
unleashing all firepower
to the last drop
of water
and shaving cream
the battle pauses when the super soakers empty
and water balloon reserves run out
the war can continue
they just need to refill
at the restroom
sink