When there are not enough workers
To till their fields and harvest their crops,
They tell us, all that they do, they do
To prevent the extinction of man at our hands
When our theoretical children would starve.
The solution, they tell us, is to work harder:
Cut down the forests to make more fields,
And till those fields to make more crops.
They will kindly take the crops
Sell them back to us at a profit,
And they will use their profit
To pay us what we have earned.
On a sunny hill, a child weaves threads of grass
Into a braid. Yes, even the spring flowers
Can be made into chains if we call them weeds.
It all starts with the sun, photosynthesis,
And I promise, if they could put a price
On the sun's golden light, they would,
And they have.
In their council of kings, they have decided,
Public parks, public libraries, public schools.
These places, where we might exist for free
Should not be subsidized by our fellow man.
One by one, they close their doors,
They shutter their windows,
They are sold to private firms
Until there is nowhere left for us but the fields.
Of Kings

Illustration by Allen B. Thangkhiew
Posted On: September 17, 2024