Poem For The Squatters Of Carmen Hill Poem by Elmer Sayre

We are the squatters and the city is ugly with us.
Tourists brood and frown, Don Arman frets and complains-
Our huts shadow his mansion perhaps

They are cancerous tissues, said the Mayor one day.
Drug pushers and scavengers, adds his secretary.

And a huge metal ball came crashing down that day;
a vision of lonely mountain ranges.
but what else but to become kaingineros?

We planted corn, no rain came
as loggers used electric torches.

Back to the city we trudged
beasts we are from being poor.