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Thursday, June 11, 2009


by S.M. Gillespie

While you laid there sleeping
A handshake stole your home
Omens black, your teacup cracked
Dark clouds
Wrought crowds
Walls moan.

They’ll come to force you out
But fight, protect your land
Hardhats in red, pull guns instead
Throw rocks
Bare hands.

Your house stood there for 15 years
Away! Strike to your head
Rubble grey, no place to stay
Move on
Cry long
Drop dead.

Cruel joke, your compensation
Displaced by more than miles
Towers gold, forget the old
Sad day
Rik Reay
Broke smile.

S.M. Gillespie holds a bachelor's degree in French language and literature from the University of Central Missouri, and is currently a graduate student in English literature at the University of Cambodia in Phnom Penh.