contributed by American Poet - Scot Rossin - 2011
We've got to leave this place
he said
the gov hereabouts
is corrupt and doesn't give a damn
thieves and murderers wielding through the land
high and low
small matter should they wear khaki or rags
when one wakes to hear a window rattling
a door jimmied
the scuttling of ransack
the serrated whisper of your throat being cut
the blood of babies
to the bland backbeat bass
of official reassurance
The Hebrews had Moses
of course
and a bush of blood and thunder whispering in his ear
the pesky army of Pharaoh
safely tsunamied
We've only the net
Arguments abound
sins of the pioneer fathers
reaping what was sown
apartheid
apartheid
bloody politicians
inexorable march of history and consequence
ah
ah
let us bicker in the parlor
sound the details
sound the details
amid the tides of rationalization
the consuming wash of entitlement
voices rising
as the garden outside explodes in flame
No
No
sad truth
one day
one laces up the old traveling boots
the day after the yard sale
says a loving goodbye
the day after the yard sale
says a loving goodbye
to the loveless land
heaves oneself to the airport
to bound up and away
to bound up and away
regret and optimism
atumble in one's breast
as the beautiful countryside below
recedes and recedes
I hear you...
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