Oil And Gasoline

April rained and rained again.
Let its breath gust through alleyways
Across increasingly decrepit parking lots of
Empty and increasingly forlorned and
Unwanted buildings
Crashing through my blinds
Opening and shutting
Opening and shutting
Opening and shutting my bedroom door.
April rained, and rained still more.

Now we dust modernity off, sharpen blades
Peel off last year’s gunk
Destination of almost-too-cramped lots in
Old farming towns grown beyond their means.
Near-small cities who cannot find any purpose
While their roads decay and their
Councils and Boards corrupt and they
Draw in too many taxes
From those who wish to just live and let live.

This deafening invention of our modernity
It leaves behind a sweet and intoxicating and
Yet still putrid stench of
Oil and gasoline floating on the air.
Mankind may have conquered but
Nature returns, everly growing back,
Vengeful-like when thunder booms from
Summer storms who scream wrath
Wrapped and gifted in small and quick minutes.

I am reminded of the sparrow
I saw who fluttered down from a
Rooftop to meander hopping and skipping
Here and there tilting his head from side to side Interested and yet not all at the same time
Perhaps pondering what have they done
And then flew off somewhere I could not
Strain to see anymore.
All this while thinking
Somewhere there are meadows still
Growing wild and unhindered.


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