by Simone Hoedel
copyright 1992
I.
You are two odd men out
From the hinterland
Dropping poisoned stones into the well
Filling spaces with your grins
And your loose shifting gazes
It's a token to your enduring enmity
You never seem angry
While you smash our peace
Clawing at our soft underbellies
Drawing out, like blood,
Our liquid flesh
Let me tell you:
We are full of our portions
Of discipline and vague threats
Of long held vigilance against
Your snares and slaps
II.
We go to the barrier
And toss off another load
Of useless metal for scrap
And bag up a pile of your
Anti-words for recycling
Ín our country these things
Have no meaning
Until they're destroyed
III.
You are two men
From the hinterland
Picking through the rubble
Of a lost time.
In the barrios and shantytowns
You shave your heads
And begin a chant
And far off to the north and east
The drumbeats enjoin
An old old rhythm
Buried for generations
Deep, and far from home.
