The old men sit by

the river with fishing poles 

and Hemingway dreams 

While farmers' daughters 

cavort the cows run wild since 

the barn door is agape 

The sunflowers are 

blooming and their heads hang down

in judgement of all 

Smoke from a million 

acres chokes the people who

still deny the cause 

Civility cracked 

like concrete opening to

a yawning cavern 

Joyous shouting from the

summer streets harks back to a

simpler time that calls 

While poets starve and

artists crawl a few callous 

oligarchs succeed