So, some who read me,
You know I wrote a poem on being plagiarized.
I’m probably not being plagiarized, unless you see these works
In famous books… perhaps then I’m being plagiarized.
But… in all of that,
People of our generation think…
Truthfully… in their hearts they actually think this….
That I’m encouraging the reader to plagiarize my book.
Just some notion in me is to think that that’s what some readers
Would think I really mean.
And rightly, that’s not what I mean.
I mean the exact opposite.
As if being called a Sow is not bad enough
I say that person is going to hell,
And then I call them idiot,
And then, to top it all off… I say they piss on their gold.
To have the humility of speech
To honestly mourn in my complaint—
True or false I don’t know—
That I felt cheated… I don’t think the moral was to cheat me out of more.
Piss is in the Bible, let me use the word here.
I don’t cuss… it’s evil, but in a poem…
Let it be so forgiven if that’s what the LORD gave me.
How can anyone misinterpret that poem?
Yet… numerous people do.
Why? Why when being called a sow wallowing in pig crap
Which they urinated on, mixed with gold
Do they think it’s okay to steal?
Frankly, it’s never okay to steal.
That is wrong… not if you’re a prince
Not if you’re a poor man looking at a merchant man with the world in his cupboard
Not even if you’re a beggar looking to get a scrap of food.
We have pity on a thief who steals because he is hungry.
But we do not pity a man who, after seeing a cauldron of gold
Goes to it and takes it away, knowing that was the place it was safely buried.
Which, if the first part of the poem didn’t make that clear.—
What reason does anyone have to steal from me?
That I am well fed? That I am rich?
Frankly… those are not good reasons because I can very easily
Not be well fed. And I am certainly not rich… not in my country.
In your country, you pay what is the equivalent of a hey penny
For some food. And you do, don’t even lie about it.
In my country, we don’t even have hey pennies
But are trying to outlaw pennies altogether and replace them with nickles.
So, equivalently, I’m about as wealthy as any of you
Reading this poem… which if you want to call me rich
Then you have the same access to internet and the same benefits as me.
I might even have a little less.
And if you want me to be a beggar
Then by all means steal from me.
Like a hypocrite, or a sociopath,
I know what demographic I speak to, and I don’t care if I offend your laws.
Because I’m here to enrich the borders of Israel
And to bring it so that a man, yes all of you, can eat from your labor.
If it is stolen, like the Seagull who snatched up the french fry
From the pigeon, maybe it was because the fry was too big.
Yet… perhaps, also, we’re not wild animals
And we have built civilization and laws and customs
So that we can live with one another
And be at rest that what is ours, others won’t have the right to take away.
And frankly, that is why I’m not a Hindu.
I love my readers from India—
And I know you haven’t plagiarized me—
But I do understand your religion, and have chosen the one that didn’t make you slaves.
If you like the poetry, please click on the link and purchase a book.
B. K. Neifert 