Like Fresh Venison

The helicopters buzz alongside sea cliffs

through sacred valleys

and over farms

cutting through silence

cutting through peace

like butcher knives

the ‘chop, chop, chop’

a reminder of the missionaries

slicing these islands up

like fresh venison

taking everything

from the backstraps

to the scraps

while overthrowing

Lili’uokalani

her majesty the Queen

with the help of the United States Marines

and the Ospreys bring to mind scenes

from Apocalypse Now

but somehow

we forget

that they’re still training for something

looking down from the heavens at farmers

just like they have been for 17 years

in Afghanistan.

 

And there’s also the tourists

with their Hawaiian Tropic tans

in choppers buzzing too close

to the ground

and through their binoculars

they can’t see that the sounds they make

are slicing away what remains

little by little

each and every day

as the dial turns from serenity

to earthquake

in a matter of seconds

and do you want seconds,

this venison is too good

to be true

and the dirt is red

and the ocean is blue

but little white lies are still in the sky

painting over more than a century

of occupation

calling Hawaii a state

instead of a nation

 

About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
This entry was posted in Afghanistan, hawaii, history, human rights, humanity, occupation, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized, war, war tax resistance, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.