Inhospitable Myths


The boy, the sun, the dusty road

Each foot upon the sun hot sand

His bare feet and the baking sun

His bare feet and the baking sun

He walks in footsteps of the past

Along the dusty golden path

The town ahead in desert folds

We walk this way, the human roads

And in the evening, sun goes down

The stories tumble round and round

The fire burns, the voices sound

Around and round and round

He felt the lorry, dark steel burn

The oily breath, he did not turn

To see the face behind the wheel

The man encased in steel in steel

A final growl the lorry gone

The small boy s footsteps on and on

As evening fell the sun went down

He saw before him Mapuca town

And in the evening, sun goes down

The stories tumble round and round

The fire burns, the voices sound

Around and round and round

He found her lying in the dust

Her feathers bent and bloody broke

The lingering smell of steel of oil

But no word of regret was spoke

He carried her gently into town

Beside his mother laid her down

And every week he walks the road

That glitters not with oil but gold

And in the evening, sun goes down

The stories tumble round and round

The fire burns, the voices sound

Around and round and round

 

Rachel writes at www.sharpeningpencils.co.uk

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