Haley's Poems

Après
And raise this
Question to the bar
Mi’lod, this evidence
Won’t take us very far.
It makes no sense
When we have sowed
Such sustenance, when we have
Hoed and tilled and cultivated
Why, then, wax and silk
Come higher rated?
Milk from finer herds
They pay attention
To our words
Until we sway and bend to toil
In richer soil, in richer soil
And then their hands go reaching
Out across the paper lands
And for all of our beseeching
We cannot turn them back
Though what we have, they lack.
We’ve amassed this evidence
Mi’lod, it makes no sense.