Artifacts Poetry, Ray Hinman

Then he Sold the Third World

First he sold tobacco to the third world,
and the cancer wards were clogged
with bloody sputum.
And he became a house filled with fine glassware,
and he shined with yellow windows
against the blue of night.

Then he sold pesticides to the third world,
babies were born without hands and feet.
And he became a little sports car,
he sped over roads that ran by the sea.

Finally, he sold arms to the third world,
grass huts went up in flame.
He became a wardrobe, a sound system,
a rain-smeared deck for the patio.
He became everything that is bought and sold,
everything that hasn't got a mind,
everything but a man.