Chimneys

We used to look down on you
as simple slaves
content with your lot
with your obvious pleasure
at the miracle we drew forth from your daily sacrifice.
We were many then
totems of your tribe
we gave you shelter, a sense of purpose.

Now we are few
old and unloved
we hear your dark thoughts calling us poisoners
we are powerless
fallen idols
we see you bringing
offerings for another
forced to look on
as the trucks come and go.

Who is it you worship
as you bury gifts in the ground?
Gavin Stewart