The vagabonds on the hill were quiet
Watching us as we watched them, trying to discern
Which intentions deserved which response

It was no coincidence all sights were set low-
There were many young ones among them and the orders were
To make sure young breeders went down first.

Troubling? for sure: this “final arrangement” had too many
Older echoes. No one wanted to go there.
Still, the aggregate of it all was overwhelming
And we had our culture to protect.
Our people and color to maintain.
At least, that´s what we all were told.

I needed the money.
When push comes to shove
I´ll feed my own brood first.

On Sundays we´ll venerate another vagabond
Who probably wouldn´t approve.
It doesn´t matter. (It can´t.)
The astounding coincidence before us was that
On that hill over there
They shared similar ideas.
But we had the guns.
And a genus to protect.
(As if guns could that.)


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