The Hindenberg Omen
Morning. Across harvested field,
an old farmer looked west to Muncy S.C.I.
and in distance, he heard utility truck
engines warm-up at Halliburton, Inc.
Standing in withered corn stalk,
he heard the cry of a female pheasant
apprehended by a fox.
The farmer wanted to be kind to all,
he dropped to knees,
and asked God for reasons for killing,
droughts, floods, & lower prices for corn.
And God nodded, said,
“Let me think about it, John?”
God had no ready answer to give him,
but suddenly, John looked to sky
and watched an Army surveillance blimp
float through the air.
Filled with non-radar wisdom of the earth,
the farmer remembered granddad's
porch talk about the Hindenberg Omen,
“stock markets are gonna crash soon!”
John felt bad, worried, helpless.
He had no life to give to the pheasant,
he had no life to give to the corn,
he had no life to give to lady lifers
inside Muncy S.C.I.,
he had no ethanol gas to give Halliburton,
he had no Norad for God's creatures.
The loose blimp continued aimlessly,
an albino hawk issued a strange cry
as it stalked John's corn field.
Done for day, he tried to start tractor engine;
Rrrr, rrr, black out, black out!
Discouraged, cold, but John really knew better,
and he had only granddad's humble advice
to offer Army & Aberdeen Proving Ground,
“vehicles oughta' be pre-tripped before
tetherin' & takin' to the road and skies!”
Mile of Blood on the Elmira Tracks
On balmy October morning, 2013,
Dillon G. (16) trespassed RR Tracks,
listened to hip hop music on head set.
Earth rumbled, scream of locomotive horn;
The voice of Bruno Mars, “you walk around
here like you wanna be someone else.” *
Nothing influenced Dillon to get out of way,
cry, cry, the community bygone cries –
I know he had no ambitious intention
to find blood borne pathogen (Haz Mat)
cleanup work for me to do that day,
but turned out he did.
On-the-job, moored stars in Elmira sky –
Dressed in yellow Tyvek suits
and wearing cartridge respirators,
Mike Reuther and I crawled on knees,
searched RR tracks for signs of blood,
and placed Dillon's masticated remains,
including spleen, piece of jaw with 5-white teeth,
(along with bloody ballast stone & sorbent pads),
into five 55-gallon (US D.O.T. approved) drums.
Dear Bruno Mars,
O how I wanted to be someone else...,
flee the Golden Spike line!
Later, en route (north) to Syracuse, NY,
with a load of “Infectious Waste,”
we stopped at Flying J truck stop for bite-to-eat
& where I purchased a scratch-off lottery ticket,
with hopes I'd never have to hurt again.
Scratch, scratch... look see!
It's just another “loser” for me,
and Dillon, may I ask,
did you ever hear my scattered ash scream?
* From Bruno Mars 2013 hit song, Treasure.
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Medicine Man Crossing Space-Time Border
Unthinkable that aged Looking Glass
would be banished onto a reservation
where, upon grim encounter,
Colonel John Campbell promised him,
“You will mercifully die of old age
instead of musket rounds to the head!”
Medicine Man never wrote “Old Age”
upon a painted warrior's “death certificate,”
and his tongue had nothing jagged
and base like “Collateral Damage”
to say about frozen Civil War veterans
(left behind) while their all white brothers
marched on to Hollywood Hills.
In October's grip,
the frosty CIA issues orders to
“Kill and scalp Douglas County trespassers!”
The Military Engineer Division of The Levant
obstructs Looking Glass's escape from Occupation,
and V.A. Hospitals are running out of room.
A buffalo robe and tobacco tried to comfort
Medicine Man's pneumonia –
Coyote howls, and Willie the faraway fiddler
plays God Bless America.
“Ayy, yii, payee, yii... I'm back in the saddle again!”
At least a chief's loved ones would not
perish in Triangle Shirtwaist Factory flames?
Blood Moon on Bozeman Trail,
and Medicine Man had to die.
Feeding tube probes, questions, and autopsy –
How long until my deportation, Mr. Jobs?
What's a “No Fly Zone” for crows?
What's a “Green Zone” for the starving?
Savages must adapt to white man's way,
or get behind barbed wire picket fences!
Missiles pound Doctors Without Borders tipis, as
I show my birth certificate to Chief Obama...
Can anyone tell me what age is this?
Fabled Injun Sniper, Taliban on horseback,
I await Looking Glass's “house calls,'
the afterlife of Affordable Sioux Health Care.
A Guv'mint Pump & Windmill
“Comrades, Napoleon said quietly, do you know who has come in the night and overthrown our windmill?” George Orwell, Animal Farm, 1946
So calm, self assured,
and minus worries about absent COLA increase
for Social Security recipients (2016),
Capitol windbags swore they had
nothing to do with epic storms
that brutally drowned New York City (10/2012)
and dumped 24” inches rain upon S. Carolina.
Hypocrites testified to never wanting anything to do
with blaming the dark clouds of Ahab for rain –
They had “not another dime” for Mayberry in ruin.
On Columbus Day, Annie of Abilene turned 67 –
She lived alone with black cat & 45 rpm lullabies.
Instead of SS benefit increase,
the Congress, a.k.a. “Land Pirates,”
offered her a mini-windmill & pump that could
transfer water from Smoky Hill River,
quench her beloved cows' thirst,
connect them with Chicago-bound rail-head...,
and Senator Grover Squealer (R. Cargill)
lifted chin, grinned, and promised Annie,
“you'll make a fortune, get $500 a head...
why you can open a Tanning & Hide Saloon!”
A methodical and repentant pioneer,
Annie Fierling opened family Bible, to Luke,
chapter 3, verse 1, and read about
“The Tetrarch of Abilene in province of Judea.”
She could not count upon a “Social Security boost,”
she rejected the deliverance offered by breeds
of long horned and sulfur smelling stock traders.
In faded dress and mud covered boots,
Annie stepped upon porch, looked faraway east;
overcast, a thief installed a windmill in potter's field,
a mystic pumped water from the Jordan River.
Ah, the Soul Stirrers sang on Annie's phonograph,
“Jordan River run and darkness come, hallelujah!”
Rumble of 1% hooves, The Day Guv'mint Money Died,
Uncle Sam will provide,
and Choice Pentagon Mincemeat, on sale today only!
With some luck, I thought, Mars Red Creek's
'gonna rise beyond Hubble telescope horizon,
Annie's animal pond will fill to brim,
COLA in '17 for water boarded SS recipients,
and I will swim with Melville against rising T.P.P. tide.
Meanwhile, Sugarcandy Mountain cattle abdicated,
and volunteered to stampede
at the first turn of a Pickens turbine wail. *
* From Animal Farm, and where Orwell said, “there it lies, Sugarcandy Mountain, that happy country where we poor animals shall rest for ever from our labors.”