Like the poor, the comfortable
you will always have with you.
They hold good jobs, then
get better ones. Like coyotes
they grin and walk slowly
in circles. They hire,
even fire each other.
They wed their own kind
and selectively proliferate.
Theirs is a constant harvest.
Their voices are a sediment
thickening on everything.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem