Down below

We are sea and sand. We are beneath you.

Trampled underfoot. Insignificant.

Just granules. Little pieces, unseen.

A backdrop for your beach, outside your home.

South coast of Barbados, West Indies.

Not allowed inside. Brush away the taint.

So dirty and unclean. Not good enough.

I am sure you are better. Haughty one.

We will not forget how we’ve been treated.

We have ourselves. You’re not the only one.

The only one who matters. Bite your own tongue.

Or place your foot inside. You will eat words.

We are hardy, tempered for the weather.

You are weak. Prey only on the injured.

You are our target. Prisoner of War.

Pay your respects. Tell us what is deserved.

Does it make you cry? Kingdom crumbling.

Built on our backs, therefore, you owe us more.

Cruelty and punishment for thriving.

Ages before you discovered toilets.

Our memories are vivid, remember you.

Welcome, warmth, kindness, generosity.

And you look down your nose. We’ll cut it off.

Show us you can’t be despicable you.

The gloves are off, pummeling pugilists.

You started the fight. Now it is a war.

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