There are soldiers in our midsts,
Some of which our women.
They might throw a hissy-fit
Or be cool as lemon
Dunked in water icy-deep,
Healing to the core
All that want and need of sleep
Smelting iron ore.
On our streets they heal us some,
Calming deadly nerves,
Playing smart or playing dumb,
Synced to every verb.
So attuned are they to rage,
They can feel it coming.
With one look they see that cage
And hear that ancient humming
Coursing thru our angered blood
At some Pizza Hut.
One will fall: the likely dud.
Yes, at Pizza Hut.