Arabs

Nadrol on Arabs

 Our Arabs lived on the western edge of the town

Wrong side of tracks ripped up as obstacles to progress.

Those dirty arabs. They ate their own. 

I should know.  I was one they nearly ate.

It’s not love that herds us into nations, is it? But hate.

Hate’s the human harness.

Love kicks. Love bucks.

Then it gets put down.

Or else, and this is rare,

It flees into the hills of separation,

With all the marks to bear.