Washing the dishes

I allow the water to run too long

and think about the fertile crescent drying,

saltwater remains.

I think of China, flooding

overflowing rafts of the desperate floating through the city.

Where will they go?

I think about Scientists,

trying to reinvent photosynthesis,

arrogant bastards.

I think of the endless garbage they try to sell us at the grocery store,

the catastrophic repercussions catching up with us as we run towards greed, our hands ready.

I think of the field of corn.

I didn’t believe it

when she told me they used Roundup to kill everything.

He kept asking me, “Did you see the corn?” Like a field of aliens

all sprouting up in a row, tiny little creatures.

I think of the artist and activist Ai Weiwei,

condemning power through a silent gesture of anger.

Like him, I give the finger every time I walk the field, to my neighbor.

No red clover,

No patches of wildflowers,

No red-winged blackbirds,

No laps of solace,

No late nights surrounded by wild eyes and falling stars,

No sanctuary

A whole field of corn

for your tax-free land.