Compulsory Military Exercise Steven Schroeder

Early morning, three
go slow against a sleepy
river of child soldiers
marching to someone’s idea
of a good war. The driver
of a small car honks
at every one as though
he thinks the sound will
make them turn
and say no,

but they flow
like water
around a rock
that has fallen
into the stream,
and he moves on
at the pace they set.

Another, in an SUV, is accustomed to moving
people. But his machine is a boulder
in this river, and slow
is as fast as he can go.

I wade upstream, thinking
poetry, avoiding
collisions, changing

nothing.

Send article as PDF to