They’ve given the business
to my mother’s favorite hill,
just off Little Plum Run Road.
Once:
a cascading glade,
the kind you’d see
in those old movies
couples, bounding
in slow motion
abounding
in endless love.
Banners agitate
waving the crests of
Science
and
Progress
white knights
mounting
their noble steeds
in the name of domestic independence.
These star-crossed
lovers of yore
(or at the very least a stanza before)
lost, the flames from the rigs
blotting out the night,
targets of this endless
economic war.
Taken up arms
taking aim
the birds and the bees
hooded robins
unsure anymore
of when to sing in spring
our faltering flags
the white fields of surrender
choked
with the soot
of a cleaner,
more “natural” gas.
Enjoying the view
from your ivory towers
thousands of feet above
while our view nine hundred feet below
as they dug
our fracking graves
one well at a time
beneath the surface,
much too far for our protests
to be heard
let alone do any harm.