We are the Meek

We are the Meek
Tom Shaw

Some of us here in Babylon
Were born wild, changelings,
The children of Abel,
We don’t belong among you
You civilized folk,
You with the mark of Cain.
You can find us scattered
In groups, tribes, enclaves.
We’re sleeping under the underpass
You drive over every morning
At 7 AM sharp.
We’re strolling the boulevard
When you stop by for a blowjob.
We’re the transgendered woman
Who sells you your cigarettes.
We’re your hairdresser,
Your gardener, your pop star,
your dealer, your porn star:
Anything but work for you.
You have no idea
Of the passion heaving in our breast.
The pent up rage at what
You’ve done to us all
Sometimes someone goes crazy
At a school or a post office.
And you think it’s just a nutjob.
Sometimes we are able to get together
Enough (we fiercely cling to our tribes)
To protest, or riot, or revolt.
And you jail us or kill us.
But, in the end, you will lose.
The children of Abel
Will abide after your
Temples and monuments
Crumble to dust.
For we’re shepherds,
Wanderers, nomads.
We are in the Bosom of Abraham.
We are Christ’s body.
We are Earth’s children.
We are the little ones.
Look for us in a thousand years
In a forest glade,
Dancing around the May Pole.