Allistair Finch

Allistair FinchWhen Becca and I, and the first wave
of settlers came to
Spoon River, there was nothing but trees.
We built the first town.
We endured the winters, the famine,
the terror of strange
folk in the woods. All the long years have
passed, and our children,
they judged us. Saying we were brutal.
Savage. Bringers of
plague and genocide. But they never
had to struggle for
survival. All they knew was money.
What is money? Some
unreal marker of debt. Of control.
How stupid to die
for an idea. Our money was food.
Fire. Warmth. When you’ve
faced a world that is trying to kill
you at every turn,
only then, do you have permission
to judge my choices.

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