Crude Tirade
My mood has been as brittle as a pressed funeral flower.
I can’t bear to listen to the talking heads lie and fluster me with their non-solution.
My heart aches and I can’t stand under my own power
to watch the oil drenched wildlife struggle in the crude pollution.
Cap that gusher, plug that spurting vein
oozing unfathomable gallons of oil per day.
I feel the agony, I feel the pain,
I feel helpless, I feel angry, frustrated.
Do something, do you hear what I say?
Do you hear? Do you?
Do
something
NOW!
Sorry readers, but I am so overwhelmed by this toxic mess, and I am not even a Gulf resident. If I were, I'd start a campaign, a resident's joint clean-up effort, even if we had to use our own little wet-dry vacs to suck up that black gold.
This horrific incident induces stress, shallow breathing, edginess, helplessness in the general population. I do not care which BP exec spouts off before congress and testifies that he suffers from CRS (Can't remember S**t); it is time to plug it!
7 comments:
agree
Well put!
The situation is amazingly horrible. The other day, as I was doing appointments, errands, etc., I sensed emotional exhaustion at every turn. Collective sorrow, I think. What a mess.
Your poem beautifully captures the grief and helplessness I keep feeling. Thanks.
Lynn, Claudia, Katie and Tammy, I so appreciate your stopping by. It is so irritating, and I know I speak for many.
Ditto every word.
Me,too....Ditto every word! It's absolutely ridiculous! And doesn't Mr. BP sound even more haughty with his british accent??.....
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