The road led down to the edge of a bay, with waters of blue, on the other side of which lay what seemed to be a camp with buildings long and low, and surrounded by fences over which no man could go, and figures in orange exercising in the yard, and other figures in khaki who were probably their guards. “There must be an entrance to this camp of theirs,” said George to his team with a serious air, “Let’s drive on up to the top of the bay, and to the camp’s entrance find out the way, that we may know just who these people are and why they have all been put behind bars.” Eventually they came to a barrier of steel, intended to stop any entry and to seal the camp off from the rest of the land, and patrolled by soldiers with rifles in hand. George asked them who the prisoners were, and the soldiers replied “They are terrorists, sir. captured by our army in Afghanistan, and our job is to guard them the best way we can.”
This is another excerpt from my wacky narrative poem, The Adventures of George, a humorous and satirical look at national leaders, politicians and celebrities.