Dearest Husbandry,

Dearest Husbandry, 

I’m your Mississippi Aphrodite, a giant Amazonic. 

I am shin-deep in the Mississippi River 

and I see above the clouds, far out over the Land of Nod.

 

My anger boils the water

and here on the silting sandbanks, 

where cotton once grew thick, 

where the pine and oak forests once clicked and shrilled with life,

there is now the wide Delta Desert. 

 

In my left hand, I carry four ex-heads

of household thread on a fishing line. 

With my right hand, I fling an array of The Grotesque

to the distant cotton fields-

all of you still dressed in clown suits and flesh.

 

I blessed you simply for enduring the abandonment,

but now the Delta has left me hungry,

and dear Husbandry, I must warn you, 

a prayer for all your poor bastions is all there is.

So be glad, you’ll be the meal of a goddess, not just dust in the wind.

 

From the riverbank, out across the sands,

I send digital, subliminal messages,

I speak all languages in zeroes and ones.

My words roll across the Delta dunes like flame through molten glass,

consuming the minds of friends and enemies-

the salty good, the bitter bad, 

but the apathetic, I leave for the crows.

 

If you still want to harness me,

Then call off your ‘bots - I promise not to prey.

 

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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