Dreaming the Death of Monsanto

A Poem by Richard D. Hartwell

I dream of Monsanto’s demise,
the roots of its board sucking poison,
the leaves of its stockholders shriveled,
the petals of its enslaved users fallen away;
I dream of the death of its corporate personhood.

I dream of a fertile land rinsed of madness,
void of sterile seeds planted for single-yield money,
absent the misted vapors rounding-up all but new monsters,
purged of the unknown heritage of genetically-modified crops,
and of some life finally filtered free by centuries of cycled water.

I wake shivering, cold sweat, the stench
of split-atoms, DDT, dioxin, eugenic death
fills my nostrils; and, as the fog of cultural memory lifts,
I recount the milestones of Monsanto’s greedy rise, points
In time this “person” could have, should have, been stopped.

Perhaps tonight I’ll dream of a time machine,
going back to stop the tyrants of recent history:
Hitlers and Stalins, Pol Pots and Monsantos;
relieving the world of planned genocides;
not a nightmare, but a pleasant dream –

a single-minded correction from
an American War survivor,
who, like a mini-Vietnam,
still shelters his blood,
Agent Orange-affected
unto the 4th generation.

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