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valley full of factories,
red chimneys,
“pure” white steam,
rolling up to the sky,
oblations
to a nation, proud, on high,
to a world asking,
seldom answering, “Why” –
why are people
sickened by the air,
by the water,
why does s**t run into the lakes,
drano, prozac, cyanide, there for the drinking?
and this is just the iceberg’s tip,
our carelessness, indicative…
why do people go without,
why do some people not know
what I’m talking about?
make their money to live their lives,
to put into their cars and boats and homes,
to hold on to their plastic surgery, trophy wives,
and let wars that should never have begun
go on and on and on?
why can’t we steward our home
as if it were our own,
and stop watching like vultures
over the things that are not?
how can we call ourselves Christians, Jews,
when we don’t despair and anger and revolt
at the horrid, daily news?
why is it so easy to tell and think little white lies;
why do we weave them into our lives;
why do I, and why do I, and why do I?
and why don’t I stop pointing fingers
and just start doing something,
instead of asking, “Why? ”
Marc Mannheimer
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