The Holocene

He was born one Holocene morn
Into a beautiful home

Then the authorities
Took his land away – to grow turnips for cattle

With no planning permission for natural beauty
He was told to remove it

He would not

Two dudes in uniforms arrived
And began to wipe out the beauty of his house

At first, using their flint tools
They scoured and scoured until

Like a trapped bear
With gunnies on every side of him

They punctured his body
And his blood merged with the sunset

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