The gold ghost.

We sat there and pissed in the dirt;
Hoping that our waste would find
Its way from us and escape this place,
As we never would.

For a channel or gully to the gutter
Somewhere near the centre of the main
Room, that ran beneath the walls
And spilled into the sea.

Looked over by weapons of alien
Design, able to shoot fire and rock
Further than any volcano known to
Our elders and sires.

Welcoming only those tall boats
That fly the right colours, and that
Leave with their midriffs full of us to
Berths beyond the sea.

Never to know anything else of our
Land or its handlers mining out more
Than us and finding less of themselves
In the process.