He sprays around the propane tanks
But do not be fooled,
That will not end the world.
He digitalizes libraries
And the books go out in boxes
But that will not end the world either.
He sells the farm away for lots
And brings in the guard
To round up the seasonal pickers
Who are bivouacking at the Canadian border,
But that will not end the world.
He shouts over the protest,
Let there be kings!
Let me be king!
He reviews the toy soldiers
And their mighty tanks,
But that won't end the world.
He paints his face with war paint
And bombs villages to dust,
He stirs the dust with a finger of wind
To spread the asbestos far and wind
(Just for the hell of it)
But that won't end the world.
He catches an 11 inch trout
Out of the stream by the bridge in Griffith Park
And tosses it flopping into the bucket
Without gratitude . . .
