Dystopia,
the inversion of
happily ever after,
scatters this beautiful spring day
like a newspaper in the wind,
dripping like an ugly snowcone
melting away
in cap and trade
carbon streaked tax
on tobacco and beer
slushing into a plain box
of twenty-two shells
and corn turned to fuel
costing more carbon
while people grow hungry
and madcap rules
bind left and white and in between
dripping down
while the sun shines.
A wolf,
twenty miles from my house,
turns her back on the mess,
and lopes down the trail
looking for elk.
Me?
I catch the paper,
and after a quick glance,
throw it on the compost pile.
Life goes on.
Plucking a weed out of my lettuces,
I get back to work.
Just another day at the races.