From the watch tower, he watches over the border through his rifle's scope;
a border that is indiscernible, if not for the wall.
He has been instructed to keep watchful eyes, ever since his army invaded the neighbours last fall.
Famine and disease are roaring on the other side, and refugees are expected to rise.
He has been instructed to shout, and to shout, and if not listened to, to shoot.
But he never finds enough time. Parents creep up from the other side, and throw their kids over the wall.
The kid in the air hears him, but cannot freeze.
The soldier in the tower can, and does; at first.
It feels to him like Game of Thrones, where the dead are climbing up the wall at Winterfell.
But he somehow knows that was fantasy; we all hope.
Bored and mind-tripping at Hollywood, he thinks to himself, and thanks his president for the wall.
Although some manage to cross, the wall does a good job of keeping away the men, the air, famine, disease, pollution, hatred, similarities and hope.
He thanks his president in his mind, kisses the cross around his neck, fills with pride,
and shouts,
and shouts,
and...