Blackbird Raum Crumbs
crumbs from the table have fallen so few so not to catch
an eye
reckless and thinkless and felled to the knees to gather
before before the broom
what is left amongst the spire that is as tall as the
lowest cloud you could reckon the height of
hanging on a branch here every time(though never fell so
far)
from which we lift these blistered hands only to curse
the families get nothing but porridge of maize and shacks
at the end of farms
cash crops commissioned to pay of the debt and poisoned
on the job
driving the mules to death in the wheat then leaving us
follow with leather to eat
buried their sabers in the field and sharpen bayonets
