Waiting for the Bus at Arborland (Ann Arbor)
sitting under a blue sky dome with a concrete horizon
mulch with the stench of manure laid in perfectly planned patches
holding thirsty young trees
all the clouds have been chased away by car exhaust
and this is still called fresh air
but all I smell is cooking grease and burnt rubber
the big box bookstore is bustling with commerce
even amidst news of the middle class buying less books - reading less
and all the independents are fading into history
the economy is beginning to resemble communism
citizens buying the same things from the same places
but intuition craves choice and this brainwashing cannot last forever
we are not and will never be machines
despite what they tell us
despite who you vote for
despite who you love
this place is filling up faster than we are repairing her
they will bury us if we do not stand for freedom
and recognize the real criminals here have white faces
May 9, 2008