THE PEOPLE Every day so busy working to arrange a few hours of careless fun, debt-extended, auto-motivated shoppers cannot account for the freaky weather, even as killer storms blow apart those trailer park dreams of wanna-be millionaires who spent Her greenwood mantle on the wage-paper promise that more of everything forever is always on sale at WalMart for all their ad-driven desires in their ever-growing billions, cyclone cellars seem as obsolete as the grandiloquent Wizard of Oz, since that long ago audience of hungry young parents sold farm and forest to give their children a future.

next poem previous poem Storyline Index page 1, 2, 3 Alphabetical Index page 3 Contents Angelfire Home Pages Absolute Background Textures Archive John Talbot Ross