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?
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