This poem was the 2nd Place Winner in our 3rd Annual Poetry Contest.
Though fallow and brown, it’s a wormhole
Transporter in consumption’s own hometown!
Set all coordinates to collapse
In upon themselves. Fill’er up
With holy water; recycle mortal maps.
There’s founding boss Jacob Smith
With firewater and a pen. Train
That water hose, brother,
On Billy and Chucky’s men.
There’s concept boss Roger something
With a shovel and a plan. Film him digging
Past the water table, popping up
In Guangdong to feed kids sand.
The army corps of engineers is here
Reining in rivers with rock. Don’t forget
To slab in good the foundry’s toxic spot.
Making leaded gas is making me thirsty
For workplace democracy or locally grown celery.
But here’s ultra boss with a writ in his talons.
He trained a four-headed dog to quell money problems
By feeding heavy metal to children. Indeed
This vehicle comes loaded with the latest, greatest
Innovations the globe has ever known. Where else can you witness
Past, present, and providence
While sitting in a hole?