Crises to the End
 
The water laced with lead,
the blinded billionaire,
the starving and the fed,
the smoke that passes for air.
The war for infinite oil,
the sickness and the dread,
the poisoning of the soil,
the catafalque for a bed.

Hope the New Year is a vast improvement over the last!

Terese Coe
 
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Terese Coe   would like to hear them