A Water Engine

There in a village above us is a machine that pumps
Like a heart, passing from here to there and sucking
From the belly of the earth burrowing through clumps
Of clay and coral stones of a million years sputtering
The hard and heavy water whose sound now absent
From the machine now broken under the incompetence
Of pretentious men knowing nothing of fittings let
Alone the mystery of water seeking, looking askance
At men plundering not plumbing, ignorant of valves
Of suction or pressure and yet so full of themselves.

The mechanophobia of pseudo-urban engineers
Beget from jingoisim and a patriotic ignorance, a fear
Of the machine drones and the thought of fingers
Crushing beneath the wheels, bone and bloody gear
And the electrocution of bodies touching pipes
With their feet wet under water, their pants wet with
Terror and the tanks dry and lost in the petrol heist
That happens with brainless regularity, pipes wherewith
Suck the blood of thirsty villagers, pillage their pursers
Until the dribbling sound of water silence their mutineers.

Fatima Lasay, San Roque
Thursday, February 5, 2015

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