This poem I wrote last spring is reprinted from Blue Collar Review, a great journal of working class and progressive poetry.
They punch into our ground
To blow up our earth and release gas and benzene
And acetone and acetic acid
They get gas, yes, and ammonia and boric acid and formaldehyde
All to ruin the water in our wells
While wind blows across the mountains made to
Turn turbines and make electricity
And the sun’s heat to make
Electricity without kerosene or
And when the gas gets to Philadelphia and
San Bruno the rusted pipes and valves
Finish the awful round
And gas workers and firefighters die
And the wind still blows and the
Sun still shines.
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