no place like home

You can’t be sure someone
yet born is not the enemy.
Best torch it now in its
mother’s womb.

And the toddler with all its
limbs: best remove one or two
lest s/he be an adversary.

And bakers, journalists,
farmers and all, best kill ‘em
for they are them.

And best to collapse the edifice
of shelter for those who reside
on the other side.

Oh, and those slender olive trees,
makers of best emollient oil,
pour fire on their fruit.

 

 

Joan Byrne
Art Rupert Loydell

 

 

 

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