Strike Poem by Steve McCord

Strike

Today a strike has been declared
By metaphors.
Nothing is like anything else.
Suddenly standoffish and stingy,
Nature will not share her roots and wings.
Her bounty isn't your booty.

Parts of a flower or tree
Are plain sick of being objectified, contorted
To fit into some twisted linguistic meandering.
Rivers and tides are not going
Anywhere with you today.
Fire and rain decline your fair weather friendship.

And no-mountains and mole-hills are not
For you to make anything out of.
Once and for all, leave the damn stars,
Shooting, twinkling or otherwise, alone.
In fact, off limits is anything atmospheric,
Celestial, terrestrial, hydrological or geological.

The birds are fed up
With being asked to carry your meaning
Like some skid-row bellhop.
Even the dirt has had enough
Of whatever it is
You try to drag through it.