songs are green plastic soldiers 

in combat formation 

placed by a childish hand on a racetrack carpet 

knocked behind enemy lines 

disappearing 

and then back for a triumphant return 

into the heel of a mother 

and ‘fuck’ goes the battle cry 

and ‘put your toys away’ goes the trumpet 

and the solicited response in her initiates another in a small child 

who thinks, ‘the war has just begun’