Among homes like crushed beetles,
We talk of land and money.
There's always a water problem
Where campesinos cluster.
Good people, rich people,
Don't live here yet.
Once they do, values will rise,
And we had better lock our doors.
I look at eucalyptuses
Keeping our dirt
In its place.
They'll have to be axed
Before big houses come.
They block the view
Of all the little houses below.
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