The Chief (The Last Time) Poem by Frank Bana

There was a time when we all loved The Chief
We brought him our tribute in baskets of grain
Each man a cow, each woman a son
To call forth his smile that conjured the rain

We captured alive his pangolins
We brought to him songbirds that flew in the wild
And then one day came his strange new demand
For body parts from a murdered child

From that day his eye-shades were darkened and tight
Our sons sent to war with no reason to fight
His justifications always the same
The magnification and praise of his name

We mirrored his glory, named babies for him
He melted our gold into his offering
He chased out the immigrants, minority tribes
The brothers and sons of the former chief's line

He took all our cattle, tore fruits from the trees
Conscripted our children, the women his prize
Through old and new moons, we stood quietly aside
Repeating his pledge, this will be the last time.