WAR Poem: When on Patrol, by Craig Fishbane

Make sure you know what that boy has hidden
beneath the folds of a torn white sleeve.
Is it the stump remaining from an amputated arm
or the lethal charge handed-off by an older brother?

Always know the nature of smudge-faced boys
before entering the village with your loaded M-16.
Keep a map with escape routes tucked in your jacket.
Fill your pockets with gumdrops and bars of milk chocolate.

These boys with their—possibly—missing arms
will hold you accountable for the United Nations resolution,
every promise made by the unanimous assembly.
Even those oaths you were never intended to uphold.

Boys have their ways of keeping you to your word.
They know the implications of the footnotes and the fine print.
Despite all your best efforts and all your ammunition,
boys tend to become precisely who they were raised to be.

So keep your eyes on the twelve-year-old approaching your position.
Look at both hands. Watch where he places them.
Wait to see what objects are hidden behind white fabric.
And never tell a soul about the candy

dipped in poison.