Silent Spring

In the silent spring after the storm
no birds can sing, no clouds can form,
water is acrid and bitter to taste
farms are barren 'n forests laid waste.

In dying cities where hungry dogs howl
along car strewn streets feral children prowl,
seas suffocate under algal bloom
desert winds whistle a tune of doom.

My skin is blistered red
and family all walking dead,
in that silent spring after the storm.

(After Rachel Carson)

(c) 2010 Tony Foley