Up there, out of our reach, every pot
swells with abundance. We wait for
hilltoppers to fling a shred that trickles
down onto our screaming plates.
Jacob, slave of the hilltoppers, vowed
to flatten the hill, to share its plenty
and reshape our days as level people.
So he climbed onto our shoulders
and we lifted him to the hilltop
from where he said he’d flatten the hill.
But the hill still stands, bounty bulging,
and we still wait, patience plunging,
for hilltoppers, swelled by one, to toss
a trickle-down shred. But we are told to
have faith, for Cyril, king of the hilltoppers,
now vows, that he, will flatten the hill …
