Oje con los dessalladores. <br />Beware the developers. <br /> <br />Here's a photo <br />of poplar saplings and sagebrush colonies <br />that were never here. <br />See the ant hills and hares <br />that were never here. <br /> <br />Here's a photo <br />of the naïve New World natives, <br />startled at the sight of horses and muskets, <br />barely flinching behind ancient eyesight <br />at the blades and blood, <br />for the aliens are angry gods. <br /> <br />Oje con los dessalladores. <br />Beware the developers, <br />cajoling the mayor into outlandish goosestepping <br />drinking at the lacquered bar <br />on expense accounts, <br />removing their ties and cufflinks <br />at the end of a grinding day, <br />knowing, as they grunt in personal toilet stalls, <br />that the angels sing for them. <br /> <br />Oje con los dessalladores. <br />Beware the future. <br />If you are a conquistador <br />you scrape your brain <br />of poplar saplings and sagebrush colonies. <br />You boil the ants and hares <br />In the oil pans of backhoes. <br />You understand the need <br />to slash the throats of New World natives, <br />to bind them with strange words and deities, <br />and transform them into grotesque effigies <br />that shine like trophies <br />and wear death masks and cufflinks.<br /><br />Michael Philips<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/conquistadors/
