Cargo Cult

by Kean Kaufmann

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Economies can’t choose but to compete.
I take your currency, become confused,
decide at last to burn the stuff for heat;
and, landing on my island, you’re amused
to see some cigarettes you brought before
upon the airstrip in a careful stack
I’m giving up in hopes of getting more,
if only I can lure the great bird back.
You say my natural resource needs refining,
so you pollute my water and my air.
You devastate my landscape with your mining,
lay waste to growth and leave the hillsides bare,
then deprecate the value of the shining
more-hard-than-rocks that are no longer there.

A mild-mannered computer programmer by day, Kean Kaufmann lives near Washington, D.C. with two cats, a dog and a linguist. Her poems have also appeared in Fickle Muses, Lucid Rhythms and Soundzine.

See links to all sonnets by this author

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Pat Jones
Published 20 May 2010