← v10n1, Spring 2011
Poetry · Volume 10, Number 1

Disarmed

He is still those boys at night when his dreams

are laced with genocide. When day breaks

and the armless beggars wander down Big Waterloo Street

he vaguely recalls something distant and obscene.

Weary of petty crime he’s ripe for another thrill ride

on the blade of a machete. He says nothing out loud

to anyone: the Colonel taught him the value of patience.

He knows one day the call will come again and, when it does,

he’ll be the first to sign up. He’s not afraid

of death—his or other people’s. He knows what they see:

a homeless Temne, a bobo, a dog.

Something bubbles inside his head. He lies

awake at night by the fetid open sewers

and listens to militias of rats on food raids.

Disarmed and dangerous, the child waits for democracy to spring a leak.