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 One Day I Will Tell My
Children That There Used To
Be Beautiful Trees
by Evan Martinez
They’ll say, Daddy tell us a bedtime story and I’ll set the scene:
The banks of my memory were overdrawn, flooded by waste produced upstream. I was baptized
by ecological disaster, spawning hatred, lapping up my own dysfunction.
I saw heaven fall from the sky, sorry remains
populating the shallows of gray matter,
corrupt cherubs averting their gaze, pulling themselves from earthly fissures, reconstructing an expensive new homes
instead of saving those withered by catastrophic molt.
I saw political pundits playing cards
around a slab of rock, side-eyeing and neck-craning,
lauded by hysteria and dread, battered by the temptation
to go all in.
I saw ghouls sipping the headwaters, cackling
with politicians lawyers and businessmen
incinerating documents doused in their crimes:
lying, cheating, killing—respectfully.

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