Mary M. Brown

The plastic army men are always green. They’re caught in awkward poses, one arm outstretched as if to fire, legs parted and forever stuck on a swiggle of support, as rigid and green as the boots. This one has impressions of pockets, a belt, a collar, a grip on tiny binoculars intended to enlarge, no doubt, some tiny enemy. In back, attached to the belt is a canteen or a grenade (it’s hard to tell). The helmet is pulled down low, so as to hide the eyes. If I point the arm, the gun, toward me, I see that this soldier is very thin. It’s almost unreal, how thin he is.