Onward – A Poem by Patrick Carpen
Machines grind
The day’s corn
The muzzled ox
Stays its horn.
Oil spills
So fuel burns
And engines turn
The President slams his fist
And scratches his head
As parliamentarians toss and turn.
What law to make?
Which one to break?
What to legislate?
Religions dictate
What guns will face
At the hands of man
What era will dawn.
The axle pushes
The wheels turn
The butter churns
And the coal burns
Civilization advances
At a snail’s pace.
