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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
