The hungry sheep

 

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They told us to be patient.
They sold us patience in plastic containers,
patience with lids that never quite sealed.

While the air thickened.
While rivers learned new routes
through basements and bones.

This didn’t happen by accident.
Say that plainly.
Say it until it bruises the mouth.

Hands signed papers.
Hands cut corners.
Hands counted profit
while the fields coughed.

The hunger wasn’t sudden.
It was engineered.
Deferred.
Outsourced to the future
like waste, like risk, like blame.

We were told the wind would clean itself.
That the market would correct the sky.
That growth was a law of nature,
not a choice sharpened into policy.

Meanwhile, the sheep kept looking up,
not stupid,
just trapped inside a system
that mistook obedience for virtue.

What rots inwardly is not the planet.
It’s the story we were fed.
That no one is responsible.
That nothing can be done.

That is the real contagion.

Anger is not pollution.
Anger is clarity.
Anger says: this air has owners.
This poison has fingerprints.

And action does not arrive like weather.
It is made.
It is seized.
It is shouted across fences
and written into refusals.

Dig here.
Block that.
Stop buying the lie
wrapped in convenience and delay.

The future is not asking politely anymore.
It is knocking things over.
It is setting deadlines on fire.

Let the sheep look up
and then let them move.
Let them break ranks.
Let them trample the myth
that hunger is inevitable.

Nothing will feed us
unless we decide
to stop being quiet
and start being dangerous
to the systems
that profit from our starvation.