men are born in a day
ghosts of a still born
eating flesh and hell on earth
lines of smoke in recoiling drifting plumes
place to place we run and hide
trees burning for ships that never sail
robbing  the hood blind
then sell me and a woman with a heart
in childbirth we satisfy none that care
the herods mark that way, we stare
my door so old a play
for the poor no law
no one to hear me say
go away