GI Joe

There was
A very intricate, specific point
Where playing with GI Joes
Took a turn.

It involved
Black market fireworks
And gasoline
Siphoned from the lawnmower
At the back of the garage.

GI Joe went on active duty
One afternoon following school.

Each one of us brought our own matches.

The wrath of war
Was soon to tarnish us.

Limbs were broken
Flesh was burnt...
Sometimes beyond recognition.

Remaining charred clothes
Would be the deciding factor
Of who’s body
Belonged to whom.

Artillery would explode
Severing legs and arms
Exposing plastic joints
Or opening torsos.

Toys that once meant something
Became worthless.

And while it was exciting
To see a copter go down
Or hear the rapid fire percussion
Just after a fuse hit
All of us yelling on pretend walkie-talkies
“Hit the dirt!!!”

We only saw it as fun...
A game...

We didn’t know of real war
Until our fathers arrived home
After a long days work
Already drunk or pissed off
And they surveyed the charred
Still smoking damage
Of war zones
Patched through their
Perfectly manicured
And labored over lawns.

Black thick smoke
Even then still billowing
The scent of flash powder
Clinging in the air.

The real wars began.