day in day out

High,
Aloft in the hills
They watch for intruders
On a land in which
They themselves are strangers,

Washing lines spin
On the wind like
Tops from their childhood,
Striking fear now
As it glints steel in their peripheral,

Empty roads, ditches
Bustle with harsh potential
As they pass
Stalking their every step,
Nightime stumblings
Promising Molotov distasters,

Aloft in the hills
They watch for intruders
On a land in which
They themselves are strangers,

Every eye they meet shields
A stabbing anger
Something they didn’t sign up to.
19, unemployed,
all they had was health and an ability
to hold their own in the streets,
natural progression from the movies to the jungles.
This isn’t holywood,
As hidden prostate in a childs sandpit
They wait for trouble
When they least expect it.