Sinister evening air wafts in from the industrial farms that are threateningly close, colluding. Orchards, devoid of life other than the twisted fruit trees augmented by fertilizers and over watering, ring my encampment polluting my air, water and my earth.
My garden benefits from their pesticides, whether I want them or not.
Ignorant famers, truculent to the last, call for preservation of America for the youth in debt-ceiling debates but ignore America’s dangling doom as it slides into disastrous defeat to the sludge, burning and sickness of their redundant farming practices.