The Guards

unpeopled are the cities now
overpeopled are the camps
how were the guards selected
and sent here to watch us
who are we to them

no charges were ever made
the whole world knows we’re guilty
otherwise we wouldn’t be here

you wonder
if the guards wonder
are we simple crooks or politicals
maybe
they don’t consider us

not exactly winning personalities
mostly peaceful fellows though
definitely not very physical
poorly trained to shoot the target
disinclined to reprimand

unimportant
because
the only action here is hunger and disease

every time
we sign up to dig a grave for the recent departed
a full meal’s given with pork or fish on the rice
and
to drink
they fill up our canteen bottles with clean water

the camp’s getting bigger
they move the fence out several yards
every so often
there’s less water and more are the guards
but no uniforms issued to the newly drafted
also gone are bigger rations

the graying grunts are haggard and grouty
they still put on their uniforms
cheap canvas material
covered with stains crust dust

they can no longer pity us if ever did
we can pity them when we feel like
there’s not much doing here these days

the hinges of the big gate are rusting out
no mechanic’s rushing to fix them
the fence is more holes than chain link
the camp’s melting into the land

sapped muscles and vacant stares
forlorn guards
each walks by himself
one day they might wander away
and probably we could leave too
but not a soul’s taking to the road
there’s no place left to go to

J.S. O’Keefe’s short stories, essays and poems have been published in Everyday Fiction, WENSUM, Roi Faineant, 101 Words, Spillwords, AntipodeanSF, 50WS, Friday Flash Fiction, etc. Read other articles by J.S., or visit J.S.'s website.