GROUP OF INVESTORS PURCHASES STAND OF TIMBER

Clear-cut, it’s called. Stumps burn for days above
The churned, rock-broken mud, the habitat right now
Of towhees (still singing, since it’s spring)

Who are not going to vote and will not know
Any other nest egg. Marshes devolve into
Troughs for the halftrack tires. Soon, mire

Will leak to ooze and bake into
Eminently well-used asphalt, the domain
Of swanky views, desirably upscale cash vault, parking.

Ah, maybe that’s too harsh of me.

Rolex and silk suit, choose
To buy and drive the best.
Rhetoric’s all you’ll lose;

In half a year, annexed
To revenues for the greater good

Of well-sprayed lawns, may the needy
Among you lords of this land revel

In your lumbering Humvees,
Deriving prime tax benefits.