Before they died they didn’t have a prayer,
And after no one heard. Inside the dark,
The ancestors inhabit empty space,
And they among. Bronze statues with a gene
In common look out at a distant sea
There in Nebraska, this the way they’re made,
Brittle and with that green pocked skin we give
Survivors, if they promise not to speak.
They keep their promises, which makes them special.
In life there was no little yellow barge
To ferry them to restitution, dull
Made serviceable. One, a tomahawk
Stuck in his stone cold belt, attempts a smile
And fails. He does not see a better day.
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