Battlefield

Trod lightly.
One misstep,
BOOM.
Gone.

That familiar tingle hits
your foot,
a slight pressure,
you’re finished.

It sneaks up on you,
this knowledge of
what’s to come.

You feel the Nazi army
of goose flesh
march up your neck.

No place to step
except down
on the loaded air.

Your heart will stutter.
You’ll forget to breathe.
Sweat dive bombs your senses.
You measure each slight tick
of your quivering muscles.

No choice.
You’ll step on it.
Bracing for the explosion won’t help.
You’ll convulse with startled realization.

Damn bubble wrap.