The Last Outpost

One day my friend Brian

showed me his secret fort

in the woods across from his house.

It could not be seen from the road,

for it was hidden by

a thicket of pines,

scrub oaks, and palmettos.

Though it was rather cramped inside,

it was the best-constructed fort

I had ever seen.

The forts that I made were usually 

flimsy makeshift cardboard.

In spite of its scrapped wood appearance,

this fort had two levels

with real windows

and even a working door!

I was more elated than envious,

rummaging through every inch of its design.

All I could do was imagine the terrific battles

to be fought here.

And come the enemy did, in droves.

Wave after wave

of every culturally induced foe

attempted an assault on this bastion for good.

In spite of the terrible odds arrayed against us

we were always valiant and victorious.

Though I must confess that I was

mortally wounded in battle several times

in defense of this garrison!

Brian died only once

in all of the attacks.

Was it not for a soldier’s duty

to hold the fort to the bitter end?

Brian and I were certain

that we made our country proud of us

even though our story was never told.

In some ways this fort represented

the last outpost of my youth

in defending against 

an encroaching grown-up world.

In all of my imaginary battles,

I cannot recall ever play shooting any

boys or girls, not even adult women!

In my mind, the enemies were always men.

What a time it was

pretending to have hearts

larger than our imaginations

for such a noble purpose

until the last outpost was abandoned

with the vanishing of our youth.