Conquistador - Poem by Stug Jordan
His smile is a zigzag on stone,
a face carved into a silent megalith.
His officers are represented by rocks;
small, well-rounded generals.
In the morning new blood will weep
and cry its way to heaven
on the back of a lime-washed bird,
its eyes two jewels and clouds for wings.
A simple Spaniard will be taken,
a cook from one of the camps.
And placed on these stones, a meal
for Thee, to take them all, Our Lord,
and spit them back into the sea.
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