My Small Town Blues Poem by mifael llauderes

my small town folks and I
talked of the problems of our own,
we sat and shared till came the night
along the bay forlorn;

the mayor fixed our seaward yard
we worked, a fence is built...
runs by the shore adorned with barbs
on wide cemented stilts;

cutting the bay off from its root
the spawning lives therein,
will just become aquatic soot
and death will then begin...

and at the thought alone we cringe
for soon the trees will wither,
the salt will seep beyond the fringe
then we'll drink brine together...

my small town folks are told
to quit the futile questioning,
the mayor paid them young and old
he gave them medicine;

how good is our intent, how pure,
why doom is imminent..?
if we are ill, exact a cure,
hearken our sentiment.