A Poem by Richard D. Hartwell
Yeah, I placed more cards today;
in fact, I’m almost out of them.
Yeah, those cards, the ones condemningMonsanto’s legacy, the ones I place on
Roundup® displays in Costco®, Lowe’s®
and Home Depot® every chance I get.
Yeah, I know they have cameras. In fact,
I keep waiting – hoping? – to be arrested,
to gain notoriety, to mount a forum from
which to remind a somnolent country,
what the rest of the world already knows,
of the evils that accrue when plotting
corporate profits against human losses.
Yeah, I brood that my meagre audience
is far too small, my shouts but whispers,
that my story is but ancient history, that
it matters so little in such a mad world.
But it matters what Monsanto is and the
past is connected, is prelude to the present:
connections traceable from poison gases
to atomic destruction, from war’s defoliants
to herbicides, from genetically-engineered
Roundup Ready® seeds to glyphosate;
thus full circle it seems to me, to many.
Yeah, I placed more of those cards today,
smiling at the cameras, awaiting arrest.