WAR Poem: Game of Risk, by Richard Stimac

The rules are simple, and simplistic
(but not as much as War).
Each territory holds a name,
descriptive and endearing:

Central America; Ukraine,
Middle East; Siam; Congo;
each has a border with the other,
colored and separate.

The plastic men, with tiny guns,
attack across air, land,
and sea. They disappear when dead,
no bodies to be buried.

Like corporations, players have
no homeland, only armies
to deploy. In this game, there is
no profit, only conquest.

No bodies, no ruin, no loss
no consequence to meet.
The box is closed and put away
when operations cease.

I haven’t played in years,
job, family, life, and such.
But when I played, I played for fun,
and played with little risk.