Buttered Buns Poem by gershon hepner

Buttered buns are banes to hearts
in cars that, even hybridized,
are worse than horses and their carts,
though leather customized.
On silken seats the drivers clog
the traffic like cholesterol,
heating greenhouses with smog,
while signaling with buns the toll
their bodies pay, unexercised,
in Fords, Toyotas, Chryslers, Audis,
on superhighways supersized,
addicted to the oil of Saudis.

Now while we’re clearly all intent
on driving on the buns we’ve buttered,
destroying our environment,
we rout the routes that we have cluttered,
producing dioxide of carbon
that poisons us like gas produced
to kill the Jews by I. G. Farben,
because by sexy cars we are seduced
without intending to cause harm,
yet threatening to leave bereft
a planet that no car alarm
is sounding now to warn of theft.

2/1/06