The limp cocks quiver
in tandem with the jealous jowels
Of proud podium policymakers
Who grub each other
Over and over
In their Shiny question hall
Who wants the asetic tall
Windmills of the new world
dotting lake George
Filling our machines
With the sun's wind-movement
Miracle of modernity,
When we could have something
As pretty and fragrant
As a coal mine
Instead?