Hundreds of millions smooth bullets
Of ivory, cocoa, and mud shades
But far from perfect spheres
Scattered across the ground
Enclosed by a field of emerald spears.

My peers and I stand
In a circle of pressure
Preparing for what punishment might come.
Not wishing for the title of coward,
I follow the actions of them.

Load your guns!
The leader shouts.
Like a flock of sheep,
We follow the order
And I force my ammunition
Inside my chute as far as I can.

As the charcoal wheel spins
Chained to the sizzling pumpkin colored pole,
As the amethyst sand crystals swirl and hurl
In the containment of their box,
As the flexible plastic planks sway in the breeze
Held to the rusty rod above,

Fire your weapons!
And everyone blows,
Mouths shut,
With all the might of their lungs.

But like the others I have followed,
I cannot force the rocks out of my nose.
The teacher does not reprimand us,
But we learn it is a mistake
Never to be repeated.