Saturday, April 22, 2017
THE DAY THE EARTH WAS SCORCHED
The choking smell of exhaust
Has replaced the odor
Of award-winning vegetables
Growing on the asphalt.
The humming of the diesel engines
Drowned out the not
So silent protests destined
For ears unprepared to hear.
Days of salad off in the distance
As if history had not been remembered
And could be rewritten, resurrected
In order to stroke swollen egos.