A Disowner

Not my world today
I find ghouls
in the graves of my ancestors,
jackals yapping over a lion’s skin.
I live where the two-faced man,
the split tongue, mocking applause,
hiss of envy, poison smile,
owns the time.
It takes courage
to stand by your name when somewhere
a computer records your missteps,
spies on your bathroom recess.

The land keeps its promises
where even a barren field
brings a crop of weeds to harvest.
I find no duplicity in an ear of corn,
no moral decay in a brood sow,
I belong to furrows and fencerows.
I was not born to wear out my boots
chasing down a paved street
calling for a policeman.