Adam’s Folk

Seven strong fellows

Silently perched

Face to face,

Underground.

Ink flies across in crisscross

The round red room.

And under their hidden hides

They bring burnt silver slices

Aimed at another’s hip.

They toast their health,

Flash their wealth

And make subliminal threats.

 

And all of our lives

Rest on the fives

Of a few dozen.

How the human race

Is still in place, I wonder when

Petty pirates pilot our ships.

And of the seven billion

We chose the brownest of the mold.

 

Can I help you sir?

Just window shopping for a new weapon.

The people live in the cities

And the bullets live in the people.

Man-un-kind sits atop

The rubbish pile we once called

Mother.

And let us not forget,

Among us is the blood of Kane.

 

And when

The claws come grabbing again

Remember then

All monsters were once men.

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