We’ve reduced trees to accessorizing our streets,
Where once open fields grew our daily bread
Concrete littered with metal on wheels has taken over,
And nobody seems to mind.
Just a week has passed since my last ride on this train,
Enough time to rip up three football fields of green
Leaving behind a gaping brown wound on which
Heavy machinery keeps scratching deeper, emitting grey clouds.
Why can’t I scream out loud and wake all my fellow passengers
Nauseated by articles about gas prices and global warming that are compressed
Somewhere in between “Dear Jill” and a Britney update,
But then who am I accusing, we’ve all moved to this place.
All of a sudden owning space seems like a crime,
And having grown up with an own room a luxury we no longer can afford,
Not from a financial point of view,
but from one of nature’s real estate.