The Wall

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We take our assigned positions

They make a wall

We march through

They shout at us

We walk silently, stoically

Protecting our charges

Getting them safely to the other side

Almost like a game of Red Rover

But we're not children

And no one is laughing

Each side has its uniforms

They-  crosses, placards, leaflets

We-  orange vests

And the women we battle over-

Lost, stunned, exhausted stares

Realizing they've just stepped into

A war zone

There's even a priest

Who dares cross to our side

Offering up hot coffee on an icy winter morning

My first instinct, to reject his offer

But the coffee's warm and the air is cold

I thank him for his kindness

And we share a moment, shivering together and drink

Then retreat

To our positions

submitted for Poetry Potluck, Week 43, Life in Free Verse, at Jingle Poetry