A CLEAR-CUT PASSAGE THROUGH TIME
On Friday,
mechanized electronic loggers and haulers
stop to take an hour for lunch and safety,
enjoy the brief silence of corporate machinery,
fresh scents of forest air, the still damp sawdust,
and quietly debate a few relative merits
of family weekends at a certain public beach,
not too crowded this year since sunburns are now
slightly more prone to melanoma, but at least
away from the strain and sweat
of this murderous job.
On Saturday,
a pair of endangered song birds,
recovering from the shock of their weekly holocaust,
fly even deeper into the remaining national forest,
further stressing an already crowded avain society,
lodging for the night in the ancient hickory,
sensing no time for mating and hatching eggs.
On Sunday,
there is no peace
as foliated territories are contested,
won and lost above nearly deserted ground,
other natives having long ago vanished
under the guns of soldiers and sportsmen,
trees, insects and birds always the last to go.
Monday morning arrives
and clockwork humanity is back on the job
where all must escape or hear the endless roar
of giant yellow monsters spinning merciless teeth
for another decapitating kiss of modern sawmill death,
though madly accelerating their own fatal equation:
(-trees) + CFC gas + (-ozone) + ultraviolet = (-life)
as every tree falls the Sun shines a little brighter.
On Tuesday,
the lovers of Earth appeal to the sanity of killers
by invoking ever-changing laws of yes, no and maybe,
begging for merciful time to motivate returning soon
to some natural balance within a corrupted society.
On Wednesday,
and every numbered day thereafter,
loggers and sportsmen, their suppliers and customers
all march brain-locked to media fabricated appetites
for the micro-wave food of exploding economic power,
clinging to faith in the absence of consequences
by lusting for lifestyles more rich and famous
than the science kingdom of progress forever
can deliver to multi-billions of people.
On a not too distant Thursday,
as the dreaming cancer devours its dreaming host,
they die together, reverting to compost and mulch
for the nourishment of some future creation....?
|
|
