What do we tell the thief

 What do we tell the thief

If it wasn’t the chief

That is wearing the sandals

That was stolen on the market day

While the elders sat 

In conclave over the

Crops disappearing from the farm

If it wasn’t the chief

That came in the big car

Splashing water from the dry bed

Of long forgotten floods

Where the road used to be

And the shops have disappeared

If it wasn’t the chief

That wore a big gown

And a big smile in his smug face

Spreading fake cheer

Where there is only drought

And withering arms

If it wasn’t the chief

That sneaked between the sheets

And the covers hiding 

The secrets of our treasury

And raped her without mercy

Even while the sun bakes his bottom

If it wasn’t the chief

That we now know

Who leads the gang 

That we curse and beg

The brigands that we now bow to

And wonder what we will tell the thief.