A pittance
for the scavenger.
Scattered at
the edge of the water to feed
Minnows that
swarm in shallow depths;
Spread along
the dirt path for birds to find;
Swept from
the table or counter with a
Curved hand
and flicked wrist.
Caught up in
a twisted roll of the dice,
Scarcity asserts
itself in bold deprivation;
Hunter-gatherers
search for open landscapes
And the end of
hunger in a noon or midnight
Crawl, flight,
or stumble towards food
With
desperate haste to break through the numbers’
Lock-jaw claim
on the set of those who are starving,
Who scrounge
for what can be found along the way,
Who battle
against the odds,
Who covet tokens
gleaned from stone.
While others
bear arms;
stock guns and bombs;
take hoards;
stock guns and bombs;
take hoards;
destroy
plows, herds, fields, and homes.
No more than
a set of villains
who worship a dead-end set
who worship a dead-end set
and leave wanderers
in stunned silence with
Bread crumbs in
their pockets.
©cmheuer
