by LR Hudgins
Sugar cane is burned each year to prepare for the harvest
Dancing in the night sky,
A fiery image reflected in the clouds.
Leaves are gathered by the orange reaper
Turning them black with anger and rage.
Fields are scraped down to blood red earth,
Ripping the flesh of topsoil and casting it off
To some mechanical fuel factory.
The essence of life
Is packaged in sugar lumps
And sent off to tea parties in Boston.
Meanwhile, the land lays barren,
Waiting to be eaten by the housing machine
Which has devoured so much of the island.
Waikiki. Kailua. Waianae. Waialua.
It is ravenous; a hungry people will sell their souls to the beast.