Stolen Land

Stolen Land

We live here with a heavy conscience.

How else to explain the military aircraft

buzzing or zooming or merely annoying overhead?

Waiting for the bus in the miserable bus station near the border,

I see a helicopter hanging in the sky, suspended in agony.

Then there is the inner colonization:

High school students at lunch time

--large even without baggy jeans--

Eat the greasy salty food produced by various multinational companies,

decorate the ground with greasy wrappers.

--What is their future in this occupied land?

Will they buy a truck and a square of dirt,

and put a fence around their lawn where two dogs stand

guard, and then play their music loud?

Or will they fight amongst themselves for access to scarce resources?

money, power, and women?

I've never had much enthusiasm for that sort of a scramble.

So, I sit alone in a room with a low ceiling,

listening to the killers’ planes flying overhead.

--I don’t think they are protecting us.