Staged War

Kicked out of the line.
Stumbling in the dirt, I raise my eyes.
A wall of faces stare back at me.
Expecting, judging-
Grenades concealed in their red hands
And the mouths of rifles
Ready to regurgitate bullets at me.
Slowly lifting my head,
I search for my team.
But all that are there
Are constructed of cardboard
And no sentiments do they propose.
With a gulp, I dive to the floor.
Leaving my team mates to be sprayed
With the bullets of a booing audience.
Face planted into the ground, I sob
Willing an iron curtain to drop.
Behind me, my cardboard team sags
Red paint dripping around their feet.
They knew of the danger
And sacrificed themselves.
While I, the cautious coward
Buried my head in the floor.