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.