Mary lies smiling on the blacktop,
finding faces in the cumulous clouds.
Around her lie her friends, who scream
in protest at injustice, inequality.
A crowd of picketers is corralled
by officers on horses, and Mary and her friends
watch as the tires of midday traffic grow nearer.
Tonight, Mary will go home
and hug her mother and kiss her father
before sliding in between her sheets.
Shadiya lies on the ruddy roadway,
squinting as the tracer rounds take flight.
Next to her lies her mother,
who knows the dangers of leaving the road
and those of staying on it.
Five steps to the left could be a trip mine,
of which the cost would be limb or life.
Five miles ahead may be an ambush:
men with grave demeanors
and plastic explosives duct-taped
to their chests, something
Shadiya wishes to know nothing about.
