At Waldenworld Park, I Lay Down and Wept

Push the lawn mower into the garage,
decide not to take the fuel can with me
but pluck up my for sale by owner sign
as I walk to the end of the street
and into the breach left by civilization,
all of its lost and found academic studies
of absolutely no value,
to the seismic pulsating core
erupting through the sewers and water mains
where three generations of majestic oaks have been
uprooted and tossed like twigs onto roofs.

What I want most is
a lawn chair on a lake.
What I want is to live
without any of you
(whoops, did I say this out loud?)
in the middle of nowhere–
–Walden pond without the Walden,
property without the taxes,
legislation without the legislators,
(who do I lobby for that?)
where mysteriously the pantry
is refilled and the roof fixed
and the water gushes through the tap
pure and clear as the crystal glasses
which sparkle to a lemon suds squeak of clean.
But lemons don’t grow on trees…. wait a minute…
wait another minute…. not here they don’t
so I tamp my sign down right by the giant open maw
and put up my tent to glamp here at Waldenworld Park,
designed by the clear eyed, gated hearts of cold cash
who dream of more green like money is still growing
and the leaves of grass are still green
and are not
falling
falling
falling
from the burning trees.