Thursday, November 26, 2015
What Friday sloucheth toward us?
Wide open spaces
sprawling out on suburban places
with auto-power its enabling basis:
that's the fossil fuel game
that climate-bangers insist we blame
for dragging earth into carbon-cluded shame.
The dead, recycled dinosaur
now pumped up from some ancient shore
soon supplies yon stripmall store
with miles of aisles of essential stuff--
piles of styles that are more than enough
to transform this world to soft, from what was rough.
So far we've come from them rugged days
when grampa's calloused hands found ways
to plow the prairies, while cattle graze.
And yet, somewhere in the world today
a farmer still drives the beast; he plows all day.
But here, strewn-out drivers glide away
from the greening world as once we knew it.
This fair and fertile land--we now eschew it;
now we transform it, as in olden days we grew it.
Yea, our trend-setting, charged-up superstore
that drives consumption from shore to shore--
so soon replays the dinosaur.