I know that I have no right to feel upset because before I was born, I imagine that someone cut down trees to build our house, but today I lament as I listen to a succession of falling trees. I know that I have contributed to the pollution of the air and the contamination of water. The air hangs with smoke from distant wildfires and the global temperature may again soar to a new record high. I worry about the Swomee-Swans, the Brown Bar-ba-loots, and the Humming Fish. Where will they go, now that the air is not clean and the grass is not green?
Buzzzzzz, CRACK, Swish, THUMP
The Man watches from the road in his sunhat with his hands on his hips.
He smiles a satisfied smile.
Buzzzzzz, CRACK, swish, THUMP.
I approach and ask him how many trees he is cutting down.
He grins and says, “Thirty-two and some are pretty big!”
I say, “How sad. They must be very old.”
Buzzzzzz, CRACK, swish, THUMP.
We both stare into the decimated forest with hands on our hips.
As smoke from distant wildfires browns the air,
I wish for the Lorax to pop out of a stump.
Buzzzzzz, CRACK, swish, THUMP.
No Lorax.
Buzzzzzz, CRACK, swish, THUMP.
Please visit Margaret at Reflections on the Teche to see her ruby-red, delicious poem: Ode to Molly's Strawberry Jam and Poetry Friday poems from many friends.