Drill, Baby, Drill!
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words Rev'd Jon Swales
Drill, baby, drill—
strange words,
a chant from a strange man
in a strange world.
Forests burn,
their ancient voices
smothered in smoke.
Seas swell,
lapping at the bones of
drowned cities.
The air thickens,
heavy with the weight of loss.
And yet the President speaks,
as if the earth were not already broken,
as if the fire were not already here.
A voice of denial,
slick with crude promises,
slick with something darker.
He smiles,
as though the earth were endless,
as though the air were not heavy
with the weight of a thousand unheard warnings.
Drill …
The skinny
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