L'aura del Campo

The Other America [52]

The Other America

We lick our wounds
hoping to heal, like a dog-
pack protect our weak pups
from the "great leader" who picks
at our scabs, bleeds us
to death, scars us slowly
with a thousand cruel cuts
unrepenting.

Unrelenting,
we huddle in orchards
once know as paradise,
hide under scorched pears
and bruised plums,
a pack of scared people,
like dented cans of peaches,
weeping along the seams.

© Kåre Enga (23.april.2019) [176.52]

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