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!