7 years ago there were no houses
there across the bay
just dust, rock, prickly bushes,
the sigh of open spaces
now there are concrete clusters
for the worthy
everyplace i go they sprinkle water on the dirt
to sprout these hutches
a morning rash across a spread
of marble skin.
harvest the cash crop of pus
and keep your head above the water.
there’s sound across the evening town
like a hammer
there’s a whisper in the tiny streets
like running water
the cry of a child paying with pyrites
in the conviction of his find
in the horrors to unfold.
‘mother." you will cry