What is chaos but the ill will of the neighboring hoard
that would see your blood spill from your throat and your gut
and laugh at your pain and leave you to die in the cold bitter rain.
Who is friendship that patiently waits for the debt that you owe yet not hesitates
to give you again, though you ask not indeed, yet from afar is aware of your need.
I once owned a dog, like the one that you bring me,
but it was murdered just now by a contemptuous society.
So take it away, I owe you nothing, no fine will I pay.
And the children will cry at corruptions and the ill moralled hoard,
that forced the lie and deception.
Hear the bellows of the village mad woman.
The Island saved her from sanity.
And her odd fellow, such a sad wounded man.
We saved them from calamity. But we must not boast,
for the calling was close and they have yet to equal our depravity.
Like the cat that was killed before her litter was laid,
like her brother six months before her, but her sister was saved
with a litter inside and her mother bore three more,
and the officer who stopped the boy on his bike to tell him not to play
when the car drove to fast and he could not stop it
and knew not what else to say.
WoPoLi 
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