Third World
(After a photo in National Geographic.)

by Michael Battram

You start to fumble for your wallet, but
Your driver stops you, gestures, no. He spits

Into the settling dust and yawns, ignores
The wailing curses of the shepherd boy,

The small brown goat sent sprawled and bloody in
The road. You lean against a rusted fender

And the weight of centuries, await
The village elders’ stately, slow debate.

© 2006 by Michael Battram



About the Author

Michael Battram has published over 100 poems over the years, in various small magazines and in many different forms and styles, from academic to alternative to "ashcan." Upcoming publications include Abbey, Blue Unicorn, The New Formalist, and Open 24 Hours. He lives in Southern Indiana.



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