Thread: Incident in a Mountain Town

Based on a true incident.

The mountain throws the gunshot echo down
To where the boys in ambush lay in town.
Along the narrow streets the people hear
The three-round bursts that teach all men to fear.

The convoy stops. The soldiers leap and run
with hearts afraid; some even have no gun.
The rebel boys now wait with patient zeal.
They spent their childhood learning war is real.

The soldiers form a disconnected line
And look along the rooftops for a sign.
A sergeant shouts an order, shouts and dies
Somewhere a woman screams, a baby cries.

A rebel captain shouts, 'ataque, ataque.'
And all along the street the rifles crack
The rebels fire from where since dawn they lay.
And some, they know for sure, will die this day.

A bottle thrown from off a roof strikes hard
Against an army truck, and truck and guard
Alike erupt in flame and smoke, and Death,
With fire, does steal from some their living breath.

Now Death, awake, stalks victims down the street
Where children ran an hour ago to meet
Their friends and stand in awe of other boys,
A little older, armed with deadly toys.

The fight now runs at frantic deadly pace.
Old Death now laughs and urges all to race.
And from the rebel line there comes a shout
And braving soldiers' fire one boy runs out.

He means to turn the soldiers' flank and draw
Their fire. His squad commander has the SAW*
in place to give him time to try his luck.
He nimbly dodges 'round the burning truck.

He fires and runs, fire three, and runs, fire three,
The bursts erupt. The soldiers fire, some flee,
And others die. The boy now kneels to load,
Looks up, surprised, and lies down in the road.

We walk along the dusty street to see
Where Death alone had won some right to be.
We ask, into this madness, who can delve?
The rebel boy lay still, forever twelve.

*SAW - Squad Automatic Weapon, designed to withstand sustained automatic fire as opposed to the assault rifle which is designed to fire single rounds or short bursts.

garza, a poem which makes one stop and think about what they complain about in "their" worlds. You succeded in bringing me into the Mountain Town. A deceptive title but one which is very effective. One might think of the "quaint". But they soon enter a very different world.

This verse is packed full of what I will call "dark dusty" imagery, reading very much like a narrative. Some might say "Where's the "relief" in the poem" often needed when the topic is tragedy of some form. My reply would be because there is simply "no" relief in war. It's terror and persistant terror. Why do we have so many veterans who suffer with PSTD? They had no chance to breath. The lack of relief: It was a question which came to my mind at first. Second read? The poem's lack of breath, entirely validated. This is war.

I was very taken with your use of Death as an anthropomorphism.

Old Death now laughs and urges all to race

Now Death, awake, stalks victims down the street

Where Death alone had won some right to be.

One of the most powerful and heartbreaking images I have read in awhile. Excellently crafted. An ending, not easily forgotten.

The rebel boy lay still, forever twelve.

Thank you once again garza, for taking your seat here. Laurie ~

Thank you very much for your comments. And now that you have highlighted that last line, I see a mistake. I intended the last line to have only four beats - incomplete line for an incomplete life. Somehow I miscounted. Take out 'rebel' and it scans the way I intended.

I agree. Much better eliminating "rebel". No matter what. Let the boy be a boy. All the more heartbreaking.

I have no more to say than what Laurie has already said, other than this poem is enlightening and heartbreaking in that it is based on a true story. Thanks for sharing.

Thank you for appreciating it. Unfortunately this kind of incident, and many far worse, was commonplace in Central America in the 1980s. Belize welcomed thousands of refugees during that time and, also unfortunately, many brought the violence of the civil war with them to their new home.

I agree it's all the more chilling to know it's based on a true incident. Very sad and really beyond anything I've experienced in life. The last line is a very telling comment on the rest of the poem, we just don't see this kind of reality here. At least most of us don't. Thank you garza, for sharing this.

We have a community near the Capital named Valle de Paz, Valley of Peace. It was founded as a U-N sponsored refugee village for Salvadorans. Despite its name, it is one of the most violent rural areas in the country. Many of the early refugee families included children and teen-agers who had trained as guerilla fighters. They were nearly illiterate but they could field strip and service an AK-47 as well as any old soldier. It's been difficult to re-orient their thinking. Even after being in Belize, away from war, for 20 years many of them see violence as normal, and the have passed that on to new generations.