as i crumple up the small piece of paper
ready to wrap around the rock
for throwing into the river
i wonder who might find it and read it
i left nothing out
on my rough stone sketch
there seems to be a custom
which acts like a spell
to judge my business and your business
while i listen and watch children
playing on swings
i think about other people
who arrived here
on the order of the ticket
to work for the term of their natural lives
there seems to be a certain
line of thought
by those who flung signatures like swords
on courtly orders for transportation
when freedom was on offer
slavery sold as a generous relative
with the price fixed
for the assembly line
hoe and sickle worked
to transform swamp into irrigation
while heads bobbed up and down
in the tall grasses
like puppets on a wire
work sounded
like the clattering of Lucifer.
Date: 2005
By: Pym Schaare (1952- )
From Troubles of The World 