Steam Above Radiator Poem by Michael Maul

I sat on the porch as a flower bloomed on a beautiful spring day.
News of a shooting filled the air from within the living room.
My thoughts ebb and flow as the economy takes a turn for the worse.
Could a hurricane be the planet suffering from a flu caused by all the chemicals pumped out on a daily basis?
Buildings are giant tombstones that house the working class who are slowly dying with each fax that is sent.
We have elected fallible human beings to fix a world created by a divinity in whom there is no failure.