When Peace Balks

A pathetic pacifist this Vinegaroon,
ugly enough to stop
a war if he were to march
in endless hordes across
deserts
more deadly than he.
A whip scorpion with
no stinger.

What might those pinchers do
if not hidden under rocks
exiting only at night?
The whole armored vehicle
the length of your hand.

What’s left to him
for active protesting
but guerilla tactics, one occupier
at a time, infiltrating
the enemy’s uniforms
engendering spasms of disgust
when caught
and held up to the light.

It will take more than his vinegar spray
to save his environment.
It’s lucky all God’s creatures
have religion to fortify their need
for freedom and pursuits of happiness.
Now we know why there are
bombed out craters
on the lifeless moon.
when protestors could not be stopped.

L. Fullington

If you've any comments on this poem, L. Fullington would be pleased to hear from you.

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