On Scrap Metal Traders

They came like locust A clustering crowd clattering leaves And when the cloud into cirrus strads had fade I saw nothing the same as before. Heap upon heap they came Tormenting everything whose structure Or bone or faith is metallic, Tearing down bridges, or train lines Or cables of communication Leaving us to be spectators And non-strategic commentators of greed. It is a strange occupation In a country without mines, or manufacturers Forging iron and steel into added value of history Our energy and vision Has no capacity for such excursion From the dilemma of our tormented box. I shudder when the land is barren When we no longer import the finite supply I shudder when the pockets run dry like rivers Whose beds we do not clean Or is it only I that see the forecast of the storm?