New Poem: Untitled

there was a deer stepping with unconscious precision
through the scrubby brushthat borders the field
where, i'm told, a strip-mall
was once pondered
but, real-estate being what it was,
and the economy being where it is,
was a discarded concept.

what was the pretext of adding yet another
bland carbon-copy
of a thousand other strip-malls
to our already blighted landscape?

there's nothing missing from this picture.
gray, flat sky, evanescing on the mountain;
tawny field, shrubs, people passing in cars
staring at somebody
who isn't indoors letting the simple plans of wonder
occur beyond their sight-lines,sacrificing something insignificant
on the altar that would make life
so much more convenient.
what kind of a man
would do that?

can't you see that we're dying here,
not for want of another Starbucks
or Burger King
or nail salon,
but from an overdose?

i hope that deer survives hunting season
when hordes of idiots with guns
will descend upon the unspoiled
in faux appreciation of nature
to mount a stuffed head on their wall
and let the meat get freezer-burn
because Whoppers have ruined our palates
for venison.

watch out for that tree . . . it's only growing there
so that a winter storm
can send it crashing down
on your crackerbox
and spill your human crumbs
out into the street
that's due to be repaved next week.