I’m Kleenexing my nose

under a sky hosting another Virgin plane.

We mirror nature’s flight 

as we plant Exxon seeds

in Miracle-Gro soil 

packed in the stratosphere

that grows into humanity’s 

Band-Aid — ripped from our wound —

a wound cracking the Zamboni business 

into Xeroxed memory.

More than the Coca-Cola bear 

clawing my throat’s tunnel,

I need an Aspirin 

from the bark of a willow trunk

in a forest I’ve only seen

on a Nintendo screen 

I would be Glad 

to resurrect from my boyhood dust

yet Hallmark nostalgia can’t breathe

when 2020 is beating us a new America.

A Bubble-Wrapped baby never bleeds 

but suffocates in the neonate stage. 

Into Nature’s embrace, 

I snatch a Pilot pen 

to write my protest 

on a Post-It Note — stamp a willow tree.

Where I stand, even Vaseline 

can’t fix rough branded skin.