Please don’t, if you are, be annoyed –
But this rhythm I cannot avoid
In this world it’s the gimmick,
One must speak in limerick
Or language cannot be employed.
Experience leads me to see
That in every society
The order maintained
Is eventually drained
Creating the vigilante.
No longer his peaceful pursuit
One farmer becomes resolute
In passing his home,
I happen to roam
‘Tween him and a huge institute.
Those coveting land are cutthroat
And legal resistance remote
With buying folks out
Now losing its clout
The scene hits a sinister note.
The world wants more homes on this land
New space couldn’t meet the demand
So buyers persuaded,
And land for cash traded
Until only hold-outs still stand.
“We’ll make you so rich you won’t care!
You’ll move off that place with a flair!”
But money fell short,
That farmer’s retort
Explained why he was staying there:
“This land marks my family’s time
In space it’s our one place sublime
Sentiment is the stuff;
Money isn’t enough
And betrayal of love is a crime.
We’ve been here for 200 years
Through history’s laughter and tears
We won’t move for you,
You have a home too
Go to it now. Let’s see your rears.”
But “No” was no option for real
No block for the corporate zeal
Dead animals next,
A farm that seemed hexed
And produce that had no appeal.
With faith in authorities torn
A secret identity’s born
Then comes The Midwester
Hard striking from dusk until morn.
Attacking the thugs in the field
His ears pick up cell phones revealed –
His traps lie in wait,
With decoys and bait
Determined that he’ll never yield
He rides motor boots for high speed
Across bumpy plains like a steed
An arm-fired shell
Delivers hot Hell
And a buckshot blast does its harsh deed.
Strategically placed spikes and hooks
At first get those skeptical looks
‘Til enemies reach
Beyond the breach
Discovering pain in their nooks
On forearm he’s mounted a gun
His weapons are not meant to stun
He’s dust-proofed his suit,
And all tech, to boot –
For a battle that cannot be won.
But “I aim to protect what is mine“
Is a cry that is heard through all time
“And that of my kin,” again and again
Yet fruit always falls from the vine.
An other earth now that I fear
Is the one I’m experiencing here
It seems I’m a cow
That’s sentient somehow
And that’s no direction I’d steer.