An Ode to Flower-Hating Pigs


Homes of straw and sticks
are not acceptable means of housing.
We have the technology, friends,
to build a modern Stonehenge.

Where? Everywhere.

Let’s drape sheets of steel, mortar and concrete
over anything pretty or green.
A massive undertaking. Honorable work.
Done to keep us under thumbs that jerk?

Don’t be ridiculous, boss.

Meanwhile, like saviors who carry no cross
the dreamers begin to turn and toss.
They go back to nursery rhymes
or Woody Guthrie or Morris Day and the Time

Oh we oh we oh.

Weaving visions of a mountain
and men and women who surround it.
It’s funny how a scene can be lost to
plots and schemes of those craving notoriety.

But out in nature…

Pollen spread by the flight of bees
creates perennials in fields of wheat.
Purple voices smooth as satin
communicate in words of Latin

That flowers are soft…
and lovely…
and still grow, even in the most random of places.


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