Why Do They Always Come During The
Nothing grows anymore. Our bellies swell like yams.
The flies eat at us. We are too tired to swish them away.
We can tell they are coming by the dust approaching.
We cannot hide fast enough. There are never enough trees.
They are buzzards. They devour whatever is left behind.
They come after us with machetes and vicious smiles.
They uproot us. We are small animals flushed out by hunters.
They kill us at random, at leisure, for sport.
They toss some carcasses on a car hood and pose for a camera.
They wear protective gloves to avoid diseases.
They refuse to touch us, unless they are raping our girls.
They call this re-education. But we do not learn anything.
We return like drought. We return in spite of the killing.
We return too tired to run and we have nowhere to go.
They return with the rainy season.
They return drenching the ground with blood.