poem- Slices of Life

Spring, I prune the rose bush of her barrenness.
She rakes my naked wrist with her thorns.
Her greening will eventually explode into blossoms.
Meanwhile, I contemplate the red rows she’s plowed into my flesh.
What will grow here?

Shopping malls break ground,
Each one choking the landscape, same invasive species everywhere you look.
A modicum of community is built by logos we all know by heart,
Yielding strange fruit that leaves a familiar taste but emptiness in our guts.
When will there be enough?

Stickers decorate the bumper of my personal weapon of mass destruction.
Once I named my cars, like faithful servants.
Now I see plastic & metal monsters digging graves for soldiers, wheezing kids, and oil-slicked birds.
The WMD in my garage burns gas and the planet.
When will I stop driving it?

--Terra Rafael