Pumpkin pie

Where are the sea-blue skies of yesteryear
where is Flora in her white floral dress ?
My ears are filled with the grinding sound of
machines      of motors belching noxious fumes
into the atmosphere
                            A lugubrious cloud
hangs over the doomed city         acid rain
will fall across the land and stunt the growth
of oak and elm and roses will wither
and die. . .      “Happy Thanksgiving,” Patsy shouts
as she enters the room bearing pumpkin
pie.      “Now come into the kitchen and help
me with the turkey.”       I do as I’m told
Patsy’s a good soul and I have so much
to be grateful for
                         why should I complain


John Lyons

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