In Poetry on December 27, 2011 at 7:34 pm


In my dream, I am active
in environmental politics.
I stand hair to hair
with the league of woman voters.
I’m licking envelopes,
whizzing off e-mails
for the Friends of The Earth.
I’m front-row, center,
at a meeting of the Sierra Club.
I give a rousing speech to Ducks Unlimited.
I will do anything
to please Mother Nature.
Half my paycheck is signed over to
the National Audubon Society.
The other half, of course,
is ear-marked for
the Isaak Walton League.
And I practice what my
pocket-book preaches.
That’s me out there planting
in the organic field.
There I am cruising the streets
in my hybrid car.
I’m writing poems on recycled paper.
I’m planting trees,
avoiding plastics.
But then I awaken.
I breathe a bulldozer
crippling a wetland.
I make myself a coffee
that destroys a fragile eco-system.
I eat a hearty meal
of radioactive contaminants, mutagens,
fibrosis producing agents
and poisoned woodlots.
I dress myself
in the soon to be extinct.
I’m off to work,
to make a living.
In my dream, it was a dying.


John Grey is an Australian born poet residing in the US since the late seventies. He works as financial systems analyst and has work published or upcoming in Poem, Caveat Lector, Big Muddy and Writer’s Journal. His work can also be found in Prism International and the horror anthology, “What Fear Becomes”.


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