—Chief Seattle to President Franklin Pierce, 1854
There’s another Ozone Alert in this kiln
of a city. Empty pockets roast
in tenement ovens while ties and twin sets
shiver in unceasing steams of central air.
Forests are dying of thirst. Kindling
for the next six alarm fire. We’re out on a limb,
as always, thinking we’ve got the answer—
cut down the tree by sawing off the branch
we’ve settled on. Wile E. Coyote’s burning
fuel like tomorrow is wearing
a parachute. Chases Roadrunner right
off a cliff. Doesn’t plummet till he looks
down to see the wide nothing below.
We’ll be OK. We won’t look.