Poem – WINGS OF PESTILENCE (By Joseph Cavera)



Once there was a farm out east


Ancient wooden barn

With piles of straw

And long mahogany fields


The land swelled with crops

Corn enough for every man

Woman, and child

Line after line

Veggie after fruit

Spade over hand

And shovel under foot,

Those columns grew


Each year, waves of blackness would ensue

Blocking out the sky, for some

Locusts, mosquitoes, gnats, chiggers

The growing roar that followed

Echoed their coming,

The wings of pestilence


No matter.


Agriculture was a thriving art

Unrivaled and uncontested

Even in a poor season

The market never closed


Each person bought their fruit

Their favorites first

Subsequently, stews were made


In all the houses,

From disheveled ruts

Farmhouses, local eateries,

Fecundity widened into full bellies


Industrialization ensued with expansion

Mechanized miracles, tremendous technologies

Serene labor was now noisy,

As grating shrills no longer cease

The once simple farm was no longer so


Domes with aluminum doors

Generator surrounded by caution signs

Acidic sprays


They spray everyday

Sending the pests packing, sure

Killing thousands, I’d wager




After 40 years of treatments

Ecological “refinement”

And continued digging

We are left.


The walls remain the same

The ceiling still appears fresh

Fish still swim, birds migrate

But we- we humans,

Ride the wings of pestilence.