TOY SOLDIERS ON THE WINDOWSILL

TOY SOLDIERS ON THE WINDOWSILL

Like trained assassins poised to kill,
The brain cells left have had their fill.
They are toppling off their perch,
Watch them as they leer and lurch.
Fodder for the front page, grist for the rumor mill,
The few, the proud, the teetering,
Toy soldiers on the windowsill.

The vertigo is setting in, the enemy is winning,
I lay down flat upon the bed and the whole room starts its spinning.
Like suicide bombers on a tear, seemingly out of nowhere,
They aim at an already compromised brain, balance shot to smithereens,
A tilt-a-whirl, the Rebel Yell, they pulsate through my dreams.
All the king's horses and all the king's men,
Are fleeing the scene, fearing the guillotine,
Fearing the next ineffectual pill.
Leaving their sentry posts like cowards,
The toy soldiers on the windowsill.

Like sparrows they are falling out of the sky,
Wherever brain cells go when they die,
Leaving the spectators to murmur and cry.
What is the reason and what is the point,
Of protecting a withering and a perishing man?
It's every brain cell for himself, just get out while you can,
Before you're tried for treason or stealing from the till,
The few, the lost and lonely, toy soldiers on the windowsill.

Unschooled in modern warfare, lost to the golden age,
Dodgers and dissenters all, they unleash the tide of rage.
Once the cells of this sickly brain, they did an honest day of work,
Their duty they once honored and their calling dared not shirk.
But a kingdom divided against itself must soon crumble and crash,
Its buildings they have turned to dust, its villages to ash.
Who knows where we go from here, i only know we've had our fill,
Of the sinister grins on the strange double chins,
Of the Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb twins,
The murderous grins that frighten and chill
Of those errant toy soldiers on the windowsill.

They must have gone and unionized, those petty rapscallions,
I paid them once a living wage, they perched upon the finest stallions.
Perhaps it's a case of faulty genes or I gave them too many pesticides.
I only know they have turned on me, and turned my world upon its side.
To serve and protect no longer their creed,
They duck and desert in my time of need.
I am too poor, alas, to pay their cruel outrageous bill.
Like lawyers who tower with inflated hours,
The sneaky toy soldiers on the windowsill.

The vertigo comes faster, faster, the stomach does its dips and dives,
The soldiers they just blink and smile and give each other high fives.
In my brain it is cold and sleeting, life is frail and oh so fleeting.
Like trained assassins cruel and stark, they fire their rifles, hit their mark.
Fodder for the front page, grist for the rumor mill,
The few, the proud, the teetering,
Toy soldiers on the windowsill.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED