They by Yucheng Tao

They come out of the mud,

their souls filled with gasoline

ready to ignite at any moment;

bodies strong,

hands clutching the radio,

blasting revolutionary songs.

Under their feet,

the earth is not dirty,

but the mud inside their hearts

cannot be washed away.

Who are they?

The mark of the beast sometimes flickers

across their gunmetal coats.

They are the ones who laugh

when blood sprays,

when the victims are staring

at the photo of Pol Pot smiling