Hailstorm (Inside the Vicksburg National Military Park)

by Robert Baylot

The hailstorm is upon us.
Without warning,
The barrage forges down,
Cold, like Grant’s cavalry.

We are besieged,
Confined to the VW beetle
Our coordinates unknown,
Near the statue of an unfortunate hero
And his horse.

Like cannon shots thrusting,
scraping, clanging, crashing,
Ancient weapons from above
Attack.

We are trapped behind enemy lines.

Ice soldiers storm
The vulnerable shell
Where we are encapsulated.

Just as quickly, our attackers melt
Fume, sizzle.

Now we count survivors.

Robert Baylot has published poetry in Voices International, Blackberry and Clarion Lit. With a master’s degree in English from the University of Southern Mississippi, his writings have largely focused on Southern life. He worked for many years in support of the U.S Army Corps of Engineers.