Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Hoard

The plane's unplanned landing turned to crashing when it ran out of track.
Its' passengers tricked with promise of refuge felt a deluge of false hope.
Meanwhile, surface to air missiles fired, a few missed, most hit.
Feeling ill from sweltering heat the pilot tried to take them safely down.
Their bodies ash by a namelessly small town.
Refugees from the Saron Gi were hated by the natives.
Settled in, relocated, their women were raped, left to burn in mob-lit tenements.
The ugliest were spared to share their story as a warning.
Sarongis unwelcome.
Starving men lined the streets in neighboring lands.
Why would they welcome an influx of begging hands?
There was not paying work enough for the men already there.
Yes Sarongis work to live but why should natives care?
Wives hear gossip of their husbands and new prostitutes.
Accused in public the whores are beat with bamboo shoots.
Neighbor kids throw stones at the ugly, smelly, refugees.
Parents of the Sarongi say come straight home.
Villages used to be beautiful.
Now they're blighted by attached camps.
Life was much more wonderful before these leeches clamped on natives.
The patchy tents are a terrible sight.
Someday they will all be razed.
Some crops are eaten by fungi and a maneater stalks the hills.
It is because Sarongis are bad luck.
UN workers bring the big villages medicine in a truck.
Americans teach English and missionaries preach Jesus.
There are not enough seats in the class.
But Sarongi children show up early and take the best seats.
They don't till fields to ensure their families eat.
They're free in the morning and all day to wait.
Helpful foreigners call it bullying when a Sarongi's told his place.
Aid workers waste their medicine cleaning cuts on a Sarongi child's face.
Why don't they stay in their own country?
There's not enough UN or US aid to share.
Sarongis don't care if they steal.
There's not enough America for the world.
White men come to give gifts but greedy Sarongis smell free things a country away.
Most natives dance 'round the bonfire built on the plane.
It goes out the next morning.
No survivors remain.