The air is thick with automotive farts;
My eyes burn with the sewered scent.
The television warns our dimes are parched –
My pocket book weighs less than rent.

Sulfur isn’t so bad with the proper guard.
Tomorrow the leaves will die and fall,
Sautéed and golden: a perfect rosy park –
Removing the deer for the industrial mall.

I watch the air move and feint its way
Through dark clouds of labour-laden breath;
Mockingbirds, robins heave and sigh –
Songs deprecated for a small swallow’s death.

O I miss the sheared green grass:
Blue skies have mated with epic adultery.
Oil is brandished on our slippery lives –
Imputed for our swollen Uncle’s perjury.