Tarred, once feathered birds

Flail in sickened waters

Dead fish, ghost-like, wash up on oil drenched shores

Lives and livelihoods drowned in an instant.

On shore

Oil-choked towns keep on keeping on

Profiteers sleep soundly at night

Dodging their deeds by day

While leaders wring their hands

Workers tune out or turn off the news

Sigh and move on

Wishing there were somewhere else to go.

“We’ve got it under control,”

Self-proclaimed experts shout

from elevated stages.

“No one’s in control,”

Blurts out an honest child,

Awakening adults from their recurring nightmare.